Turn Around
by Ellenka
Summary: dead & archived
1. Lead

**Disclaimer:** I'm not Suzanne Collins and don't claim to own The Hunger Games. Whew. Title and inspiration credits go to the song "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler. I deleted the quoted lyrics to be on the safe side, but it is recommended listening.

**A/N + warning:** The first chapter is all angst and hurty-comforty talk, fanservice ensues later.

Also - hiatused for now, will be edited before continuing.

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><p><strong>Turn Around<strong>

**Part 1**

I've been gazing into the abyss for a long, long time and when the abyss gazed back into me through the blue eyes in which I thought I'd finally found salvation, something in me broke. The glare replete with murderous hatred and the subsequent pressure of Peeta's fingers on my throat haunt my nightmares and sinister daydreams alike. I doubt that even a miraculous return of his old self could dispel the horror.

Even though Peeta bears no actual fault for the incident, I find the images very difficult and very painful to disengage. When the gentle boy with the bread – whose love I'd recklessly began to take for granted – turns into a spiteful Capitol-monster in the darkness behind my tightly scrunched eyelids, I feel as if I were hijacked myself. Unable to discern what's real and what's not, I blunder in a vicious circle of fear and heartbreak, forever looking over my shoulder. I don't have anyone to do it for me here.

The Capitol hijacked me apart from Peeta, used whatever love existed between us for show and twisted it for vengeance before ultimately killing it with a lethal overdose of hallucinogenic venom. In an attempt to escape the decaying memory of our relationship that pursued me incessantly in the dark underground corridors of Thirteen, I asked to be relocated to the still unconquered District Two.

Besides whatever contributions to the actual war effort my presence could bring, I concentrated on my own battle and struggled to ward off the blackness that threatened to engulf me. I believed I needed to do it alone. Gale had offered to accompany me to Two, completely disregarding the projects he's been working on with Beetee, but I declined. I'm not even sure on the exact reason why. Maybe I feared that his company would tempt me to take a _too easy_ way out. Or maybe I dreaded finding _no way at all_, and wasn't ready for another loss.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Thirteen's been steadily hijacking my best friend away from me, our perfect cooperation deteriorating after we found ourselves in a vast underground trap from where we tried to fight in a war beyond anything we could truly fathom. We became prey at worst and weapons at best, but struggled to remain hunters, each in a different way, and ended up exchanging unnecessary verbal blows with misplaced malice and forfeiting whatever little comfort we could've found in each other. Sometimes, I wish to take it all back and regret that I left Gale in Thirteen. We used to be good at coping together, and now I find myself failing miserably more often than I'd like to.

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><p>When duty finally brings Gale to District Two, my doubts reappear and I stubbornly avoid him to the best of my ability, but I'm not surprised when he knocks on my door after curfew. I can't find the heart to pretend I'm not there, so I call him in. I've deceived him one too many times already.<p>

Gale strides across my long, narrow room in the military facility we had only recently taken over and silently joins me on the windowsill where I've been pensively sitting for some time. There are two beds lined along both walls, but I have the room all for myself, by special request. The whole building is too large for our group anyway.

"Hey, Catnip," he says as he settles opposite me, studying me intently. "How are you… coping?"

"I'll survive. At least as long as necessary," I answer with a shrug, but I feel the corner of my mouth involuntarily twitching upward as I return his gaze. I haven't seen him for weeks and even after our disagreements in Thirteen, his presence lightens my mood. For a moment, I wish I could just fall into his arms to forget the past and to seek conviction that the future will be better. But then I remember why I think I shouldn't. Memories of loving eyes turned alien and of gentle fingers turned murderous make me shudder, but still… could I give Peeta up this easily?

"How is Peeta? Have you seen him?" I blurt out, instantly turning Gale's answering smile into a frown.

"Hasn't Haymitch told you? He _is_ improving." Gale bites his lip, but continues. "As long as nothing reminds him of you."

I look down, wringing my hands in my lap. The odds are I'd be dead before the war ends and then Peeta will have no reason to fear and hate me, neither real nor unreal. And he'll be happier with no reason to miss me. Why do I find the prospect of him being eventually able to live normally without as much as a memory of me so terrible? If the hijacking leaves no other lasting damage, he'd be better off than the eleven years I'd ignored him. But the notion still _hurts_ and I'd do anything to push it from my mind.

"But even Prim is trying to help, so I guess it's not entirely hopeless." Gale interrupts my dismal thoughts, probably hoping to cheer me up.

It works, because when he reminds me of my sister, I can't help but smile. I'd already talked about her attempts to help with Haymitch on the phone, but the news sound even more convincing when Gale tells me face-to-face with familiar confidence in her abilities, despite the fact he may not want them to prevail this time.

"Do you truly want them to succeed?" I ask.

"Yeah. What they've done to him… it shouldn't happen to anyone. Besides, if nothing else, I'd want him to get better for your sake."

I raise my eyebrows. I don't know for certain if I'd ever bring myself to be alone with Peeta again, but Gale doesn't know that. And I don't want fake comfort, not from him. "Really?"

"I mean it. Why are you wondering?"

"You as good as lied to me about him once," I snap without provocation, bringing up the bone we've never truly buried.

Gale just sighs exasperatedly in response. "Right back at you, Catnip. You as good as lied about not having seen the propo in the first place."

"Hey, but I was just-"

"Just what?" he cuts across me. "Is it different when you do it, Mockingjay?"

I gape at him, speechless and hurt, and he frowns as if deep in thought. "Were you really trying to do what Peeta asked you, Catnip? Checking your allies?" he says finally.

"He might well have had a point, huh?" I spit, regaining my fight.

Gale waves the accusation away. "Not even you can fight the world all alone, Catnip. You should pick your battles a bit more wisely." Then his expression softens. "And about the propo, I really had no idea what would hurt you more. Looking out for you is damn much harder down in Thirteen than back in our woods, but trust me, I'm still trying to do it."

"I don't remember asking you to-" I begin, but Gale interrupts me again.

"What makes you think you had to? I thought we were a team," he says. The veiled hurt in his eyes almost makes me want to take the words back, but I make no attempt to. Better clear things up once and for all.

"Does that involve being all friendly with Coin? I don't believe her intentions are entirely good, either."

Gale nods seriously and leans closer to whisper. "I'm with you there. But you know as well as I do that we'd never defeat Snow without her. And last time I checked, she wasn't hiding any evidence of wanting to take over his agenda in supply closets."

The subtle jab stings and I grit my teeth. "What can you know? You keep hanging around with Beetee in the Weaponry anyway."

"He has her office wired. Just in case. And if remember correctly, I asked to come here with you and _you_ told me to sit with Beetee in the Weaponry. Why?"

"I... I... " _What? Wanted to mourn Peeta without any distractions_? Probably. But that would be too wrong to say aloud. "You were more needed there, weren't you?" I say, deciding to elude the question with repeating an old lie.

Gale leans closer, his eyes intent on mine. "Catnip, you are more important to me than some weapons. Just in case you doubted it. "

I draw back and throw my hands up in frustration. I don't like it when he makes an uncomfortable point I can't refute. "What the hell do you want from me, Gale?"

"I just want to help you. Besides, aren't we are long past the point when I could want anything from you?" He keeps his voice devoid of sorrow, but I know him too well not to notice the effort. _Should I count it as another lie for my sake? Or just an attempt not to burden me with his emotions because he knows I can't even deal with my own?_ Too bad he's right on that one.

"Have we ever been?" I mutter, more to myself than to him, but I still see how deeply my words cut and bow my head to avoid his intense gaze.

The pain of having lost me over and over again after bursts of false hope is so evident in his eyes I can't bear to look at it. When Gale gently wraps his fingers around my chin and coaxes me to face him, I shut my eyes tightly enough to make colorful fireworks erupt in my self-imposed darkness. I'm shutting him out even now as he tries to reconcile with me and comfort me… _Is he losing me again? Am I losing him? Are we losing each other even without real venom polluting our brains?_

"I don't know anymore. But if you wanted anything from me, do tell. I've still got your back, Catnip," Gale says softly and I feel his lips press against my forehead. A light and friendly kiss, reminding me of that bygone era when life used to be a straightforward and sane struggle for survival. Back then, we had no problem to stay on top of it and get along together in the process.

_How I miss those times…_

Then Gale's hand slides from my face and I feel him rise and walk away. I refuse to open my eyes and my ears detect no trace of his furtive tread, but the lack of sensory evidence does nothing to lighten the void opening in my heart.

As far as I am concerned, Peeta is gone.

Gale is leaving and he might not return, not if I keep driving him away.

After all the time I'd spent dreading their deaths, the imminent threat of losing them both just as definitely while they are still alive stabs at my heart with steely barbs of irony.

Maybe I could cope with everything alone, but I'm sick and tired and so lonely I can't stand it and I don't_ want _to be anymore.

Before I can fully process my thoughts, my feet are sprinting towards Gale's slowly retreating figure. I collide with his back just as he reaches for the doorknob and throw my arms around his waist to steady myself. He maintains his balance with little effort, but literally flinches at the contact.

_Does even he find me repulsive now?_

The very notion is unbearable, but before the irrational hurt settles in, I notice that Gale still wears a bandage under his shirt, an evidence of the injury he'd sustained when he volunteered to rescue Peeta. He did it for me, regardless of what Peeta's return may mean for our relationship or whatever remained of it by that time. Meanwhile, I worried back in Thirteen, saying few lines for the camera and then proceeding to bloody my fingers with pointless knots.

I wasn't there to guard his back.

_What has become of me? What have I allowed myself to become?_

"I'm sorry, Gale. For everything. I've got your back too," I mutter into his shirt, holding on tightly and shifting my head to press my cheek against his uninjured shoulder.

His muscles ripple under my palms as he chuckles. "I guess I can't argue with that."

Gale gently loosens my clutching fingers from his shirt to lace them with his own and I relish the contact, unwilling to pull away. The world feels very close to _alright_this way and that's about as good as it can get after everything we've been through.

"Does it hurt much?" I ask, lightly shifting my head to indicate what I mean. I've never thought to ask him before. I hardly _cared_ and that hurts to admit.

"It's almost healed, so not really," he answers dismissively. "Unless something unexpected happens."

"Sorry," I repeat contritely.

"I'm not complaining," he says with a hint of a genuine laugh in is voice and turns in my embrace to enclose me in his arms properly.

"What's become of us, Gale?" I mutter into his chest and instinctively breathe in his scent. I hear and feel his heartbeat, as strong and fast as I remember from every time I'd gotten really close to him. I force myself to pull away far enough to look into his eyes. "We are fighting in a war…"

"We are fighting for freedom. That's what we always wanted, haven't we?" he says softly.

"Yeah, but… I never imagined the price could be so high. Is this what we wanted? I just wanted to save Prim. And then Peeta. And then..."

Gale nods just as my voice trails off. "And then Panem. It's bigger than you and Prim now, Catnip. Bigger than us." He hesitates for a moment. I brace myself for his next words, but they end up hurting a little less than I expect. "Bigger than you and Peeta… The whole country is fighting, on one side or another. All we can do is to see it through without losing ourselves in the process."

"It almost happened." I shudder. That's not what I wanted, definitely not.

Gale's lips twist into a smile, wry with a mixture of joy and sorrow. "Almost being the key word? I don't want to lose you, Catnip."

I just nod to indicate I feel the same about him and bury my face in his chest before my eyes brim with tears.

Gale holds me in silent comfort, his arms taut against my body as if he wanted to prevent me from disappearing again with all his strength. I return his fierce embrace and when I shut my eyes tightly enough and inhale deeply enough, I feel safe and warm and _home_ and I want to stay there.


	2. Silver

**Warning:** Absolute fanservice for a naughty little (al)chemistry lesson.

Not exactly work-, school- or public-transport-safe ;)

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><p><strong>Turn Around<strong>

**Part 2**

Now that I found my way into Gale's arms, staying there feels too good. Too pleasant. Too easy. Once we got close enough after abandoning the concerns dividing us, we attuned immediately. Naturally.

I squeeze even closer and sigh softly as he strokes my back and presses his lips into my hair, again and again. I'd want him to…

_What am I thinking? What am I doing? What have I been thinking and doing until now?_

My pulse quickens, synchronized with Gale's, as if our hearts couldn't resist beating together once they sensed an opportunity to do so.

_Do I love Gale? Or Peeta? Or both? Or neither, and I'm just leading them on in moments of weakness, or taking advantage of whoever happens to be in reach?_

Considering my actions in retrospect, most point to the last option. I seemed to have no idea what to do with either of them, unless there was a shadow of imminent loss and pain hovering above our heads.

After a painful succession of botched and missed opportunities I somehow ended up here, in a strange and terrible place in the middle of the war. I can't bear to be alone anymore, so I hold onto Gale as if my life depended on it. I don't want to reject his comfort anymore.

After a long moment, I slowly lift my head, letting my nose brush against Gale's chin and lips in the process. This time, I don't know who initiates the kiss, but I know I _want_ it, so I just hold onto Gale and move my lips in tune with his, letting the sensations permeate my body. I feel heat and affection and hunger, hunger that only grows as the kiss deepens, spreading down and transforming into an enticing ache. This is not like the bygone kisses in the Arena. This is an entirely different level, and there's no point in drawing comparisons.

Peeta can't return to me and I can't return to him. Not now.

I've got Gale back and I'm not letting him go. Not now.

There's no point in drawing comparisons and something in me decided and I don't want to second-guess the choice. Now I need not only a friend, I need love; I need to feel it both in my heart and in my body, at least once.

So I shut my eyes and kiss Gale until dizzy stars erupt under my lids, colorful like peacock's feathers. When we finally come up for air, Gale stares at me wide-eyed, joy and passion and doubt battling on his face.

"Catnip? What's on your mind?" he gasps.

The questions in his eyes are too numerous to sort through and answer and I have my own to contend with, buzzing around my head like a swarm of tracker jackers.

"Many things," I whisper, tangling my fingers in his hair and bringing him closer again. "And I want to forget them all."

We are alone and stranded and we've barely stopped fighting and I want the war to cease, at least for a while, I want to close my eyes to all the suffering and death, to live before I'll be forced to succumb to it entirely.

"Make me forget everything," I whisper against his lips. "Make me forget _him_." _At least for now_, I don't get to add before Gale's lips cover mine again, and suddenly I'm not all that sure if I wanted to say the words in the first place. We kiss and that eliminates all need to talk and think about anyone or anything else_._

Now I appreciate why I've never _really truly madly deeply_ kissed Gale before. I don't think I'd have been able to stop at that, just like now. The power of our mutual attraction is too irresistible when I let it go unleashed without as much as an attempt at control.

We kiss and the flames rise higher.

Breaking the lip-contact, but pressing my body even closer, I reach behind him to lock the door. I wouldn't open it for anyone, not now. After a second of consideration, I switch off the light. The silver moonbeams flooding through the window will provide more fitting illumination. With audacity I never knew I possessed, I begin to undo the buttons of Gale's shirt. It may be now or never, and I want _now_.

To my consternation, he pulls away slightly.

"Catnip, you sure you really want to… like this…" his voice trails off, slightly bewildered, as if he doubted that I know what I'm doing. I keep my gaze focused on his buttons to prevent it from betraying any uncertainty.

True, I don't _exactly_ know what I'm doing, but that doesn't matter. I just let myself acknowledge the consuming need to feel _more_, to feel everything I possibly can, and after the preventative shot I've been given in Thirteen, no concerns inhibit my desire.

"Don't tell me _you_ don't want to," I answer in a low whisper. Our very immediate proximity lets me appreciate the evidence.

Gale bites his lip to stifle a groan and wraps his hands around my hips to prevent me from pulling away. "I wanted you long before you figured out this meaning of the word," he confesses. _No surprise. I truly began to experience it just a while ago_. "Right now, I could die of wanting you, but I'd rather die than take advantage of you."

His fingers pressing into my flesh and his voice, low and hoarse and breathless, send tantalizing shivers throughout my body.

"You can't take advantage of me. We are friends who share everything, right?"

"Of course we are, Catnip." I keep looking down, but hear the smile and hope in his voice. "You're sure, then?"

"I'm sure," I breathe into his half-open shirt. His heart hammers so loudly I can hear it and every beat seems to draw an answering throb from my body.

I lift my head and our eyes meet like mirror-reflections, twin pools of mercury glistening in the bright moonlight and smoldering with sulfurous inner fire. We might be too alike, but we are different enough to fit and that's all that matters now. I want Gale to be mine and I want to be his and anything else feels so acutely unthinkable I refuse as much as to try thinking about it.

Seconds later, our lips collide with unrestrained passion and hands impatiently tug at clothes, seeking bare skin, seeking _each other_, seeking conjunction. Maybe when we mix the elements in the heat and sweat of love, we'll become something more together, or at least catch a glimpse of gold amid the omnipresent lead and iron.

When the drab uniforms of war no longer separate us, we begin to explore our bodies, so familiar yet so new, our curious fingers finding both intimate comfort and salacious excitement along the paths we trace. I touch him without shame or hesitation, raw instinct guides me with the primal and unstoppable force of nature. My palms still roam over his lean muscles as Gale lifts me up and carries me to the nearest bed, laying me down to caress my war-ravaged body as if it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

White-hot fire courses along my skin in the wake of his kisses as his lips slide down my neck to trace my collarbones and then lavish attention on my breasts. Gale leaves me no time to think or reciprocate, all I can do is to moan under his touch and savor every precious second. The pleasure only grows in intensity as he moves lower to taste my most sensitive skin and overwhelms me completely when he engages his beautiful, capable fingers to bring delight instead of death.

My muscles contract around them and I ascend to heaven and fall like a shooting star, burning in the rush of heedless flight. My breath still comes in wild gasps as Gale lifts himself up to hover over me, supporting his weight on one arm.

"Liked it?" he whispers, still tracing my moist lips with his free hand.

"Loved," I sigh back. Lost in the intoxicating scent of skin and desire, I pull him into a kiss to taste my bliss on his tongue; feeling the heat and lust throb between our cradled hips.

His lips quirk into a naughty smirk as he pulls slightly away. "What d'you want now?"

In this very moment, I have one single answer. "I want you, Gale…" I whisper, his name dissolving into a moan as he slowly moves to fulfill my wish.

"I love you," he reminds me softly.

And that's what he does.

My body welcomes him with a wet kiss and accepts him with a gasp of pain as he slides deeper in, drawing blood. Even making love hurts, but this pain fills my heart instead of emptying it and I smile through a dewy sprinkling of tears as Gale gently kisses it away. When the spasm subsides, I relax in his embrace and let my legs wrap around his waist, encouraging him to start a slow rhythm I soon adapt to with ease.

We no longer move like two parts of one being, we _are_ one being, maybe still flawed, but wonderfully complete.

I stare into Gale's eyes as he moves above and inside me, and his gaze dark with night and desire and lambent with love penetrates me deeper than his flesh. The contact, intimate on every level, sends a gooey flood of emotions crashing through my heart. I can't even discern what exactly I feel, but everything feels _right_. Gently, I trace the scars on his back and the edges of his bandage, but when he quickens the pace, I dig my nails deep, etching a memory of love into his skin to supersede the imprints of torment.

Our synchronized movements reach a feverish pitch and I close my eyes to see red gold. When the pleasure builds up to breaking point again, my body arches against his, taut as a bowstring, and then releases. I feel him immediately follow and for a few delirious moments we fly together, aiming for rapture and hitting the mark with ease. We are there, our bodies glued with wet warmth. Then we collapse together and Gale buries his face in my neck, whispering to my wild pulse. I kiss his damp hair and stroke his slick skin, basking in the calm beauty of the aftermath.

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><p>When I come to my senses after a short nap, I'm still tangled in Gale's arms and my cheeks burn so intensely he must feel the heat as he kisses them. I incline my head slightly to capture his lips with my own, tasting the salt of our sweat and my joyful tears.<p>

Now I feel content.

I don't know what tomorrow brings, or what the hijacking treatment brings or what the end of the war brings or whether we'd both live to see either. Right now, I don't even want to know. Keeping my eyes shut tightly, I snuggle against Gale and feel his lips press against my forehead, a light and friendly kiss. We make no effort to speak, but our hearts beat loud and synchronized in the silence, saying everything that needs to be said. We are friends who just shared everything, love included. We turned back to each other and found home in our embrace. From there, we can step into the next stage, whatever it may bring.

But not right now.

I want to hold onto him just a while longer. In his arms, I feel safe and warm and as _home_ as if there was our evergreen forest surrounding us, and I don't want to leave.

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><p><strong>AN:**

I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it ;)

Btw, the "beautiful, capable fingers" are quoted verbatim from CF. I just decided to give 'em something more worthwhile to do ;)

Please review and tell me what you think!


	3. Gold

**A/N:** Thanks to all my darling, amazing and wonderful reviewers and readers.

I still don't own anything but the idea I managed to conquer. Also, there's a subtle nod to J. W. Goethe somewhere towards the end, massive kudos to anyone who discovers it.

And just in case, all the warnings are still valid ;) That said, enjoy! ;)

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><p><strong>Turn Around<strong>

**Part 3**

For the first time since I can clearly remember, I wake up with no residual nightmares lingering under my lids. Moreover, I'm free of the sense of displacement that's been perpetually haunting me. I know that I am exactly where I want to be even before bothering to open my eyes. The alluring comfort feels new, but most welcome, as if something clicked into place during the night the I'd spent nestled in Gale's arms.

We are far from home that no longer exists and trapped in the middle of the war, but we are together, living and breathing as one and that's all I need right now.

Gale must have sensed me awakening, but makes no attempt to break the lovely silent enchantment we'd most willingly surrendered to. Only his fingertips begin to stroke my naked back, gently resurrecting the blissful shivers from the night before and dissolving all treacherous hints of doubt and embarrassment that dare to creep into my mind.

What we've done wasn't an illegal hunting trip or a black marked trade or a military mission, but something we've never done before, something I thought I'd never _ever_ do…

… _but I did… _we_ did… _

… tentatively, I lift my head to look into Gale's open eyes, wondering what I'd discover there. To my relief, I find no reason to be afraid or contrite, only a twinkle of dauntless and contagious joy.

_We are in this together and everything is alright_, his eyes tell me and I find myself agreeing. The familiar smile tugs irresistibly at the corners of his mouth and widens as I return it without hesitation.

… _and it felt right. _Was_ right_.

We've been brought together again by a mutual need to _live_, in a moment when everything between us seemed dead and there was nothing else left for me to betray. Once again we proved to be a perfect team and our rapport felt too wonderful to be sinful or wrong. The ardent and profound celebration of life and love we'd engaged in might have been wanton in comparison to the sacrificial, more spiritual affection I'd shared with Peeta in our Arenas and perhaps beyond… but no less exquisite and fulfilling and it was what I needed more this time.

What I still need…

I lean down to press my lips against Gale's, desiring to remembe_r us_ in this moment, not to forget anyone else in any other. After a long sweet kiss we part for breath and I let my head sink lazily to the fragnant warmth in the crook of his neck, a most pleasant refuge. I'm in Gale's arms and right now I don't want anyone to find me there, neither a friend nor a foe. Not even the new day being born from the enticing battle of light and darkness on the eastern sky beyond my window, for fear of what it may bring upon us. Yet nature heedlessly follows its course and when the sun slowly rises to illuminate our tangled bodies and penetrates even the luxurious darkness I'm hiding in, I subconsciously answer the beams with a smile of my own, equally pure, bright and momentarily oblivious of earthly struggles.

As I lay practically on top of him, inexplicably content and explicably drowsy, Gale's fingers deftly unravel my messy braid, freeing my hair and combing through, sometimes tantalizingly brushing against my bare skin and straying to more and more sensitive places. I instinctively snuggle and press closer, gladly letting him unravel _me_.

Again.

I thought we'd shared everything already, but the heat throbbing from my center as I experimentally move against him to feel how awake and alive he is slowly brings my blood to simmering boil, and I know we have more. More to give, more to take, more love to consummate, more to gain together… from whatever forever we have left.

Gale shares even my thoughts and pulls at my liberated locks, bringing my lips back to his and devouring them with hunger that matches my own. I respond in kind, basking in the primal heat of the fire we stoke to rival the sun. Moans escape me freely as Gale's kisses trail down my neck and every time the roughness of his new stubble brushes against the skin he'd already caressed to the zenith of sensitivity.

Our hands and mouths soon begin to wander like faithful hunting partners, eagerly discovering that the plains, curves, ridges and forests we'd tenderly mapped in the moonlight are just as delightful to roam in the glorious sunrise. We conquer the familiar territory with increasing vigor and audacity, and I find myself marveling at how beautiful the passionate struggle of our bodies can be after our minds have found peace.

We are winning. Both of us. _Together_.

This time we connect with fluid, painless ease and the natural spell of our motion instantly reduces the world to nothing and then recreates it anew in the perfection of our sensations…. the harmonious melody of Gale's ragged breaths and my moans, punctuated by the rhythmic collisions of bare flesh… the scents of skin and sweat, spiced by the sultry undertone of liquid love… the sight of Gale's face beautified in breathless delight, his eyes mirroring mine and blazing with devotion and desire, our limbs entwined and muscles taut with amorous exertions… the piquant taste of passion shared in our kisses… the tongues of flaming bliss erupting from the volcanic confluence of our bodies and incinerating us in a single bonfire…

We are burning and melting and flowing together and the glorious rays of the new sun paint dizzy golden patterns through my closed lids as we simultaneously throw our heads back in ecstasy. We disintegrate into elementary particles only to coalesce back perfected and transformed, the ashen and wild essences of two friends from the fate-blackened Seam becoming one and _more_ in the ethereal light...

… at least for a single precious moment, eternal and ephemeral at the same time.

Then we collapse, clutching each other like lifelines while we let our breath even out and our heartrates slow and our bodies rest, recovering from the shared little death that brought us a step beyond the threshold of heaven.

I wish we could have stayed there.

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><p>Too soon, the wake-up call rings through the barracks, coaxing us from our warm and golden world to answer the inexorable call of cold cruel iron. Reluctantly, we part our embrace and without Gale's skin against mine, I suddenly feel more naked and vulnerable than ever.<p>

I gather the scattered pieces of my leaden-gray uniform with compulsive haste and don them as armor against whatever awaits me outside. Then I quickly twist my hair into a braid, tight as ever. I can't afford to be unraveled, not out of here. Gale had dressed with mechanical efficiency and a hint of grim apprehension returned into his eyes, but now he lays a gentle hand on the small of my back, guiding me to the door.

"Catnip…" he begins just before we step out, bringing us to a standstill and lightly cupping my cheek with his other hand. With a slight start I realize that it's the first coherent word either of us spoke since last evening. But out communication definitely hasn't been lacking and the jolt back to mundane language feels more jarring than welcome.

Craving more, I raise my gaze to meet his again and see everything there, everything we've done and been and have achieved together; and the understanding that tells me he perceives the same in mine. The gold of our lesser and greater work lingers within us, safely hidden, only for us to see. Gale's eyes shine in the sunlight, like so long ago when we shared only words, thoughts and smiles back in our woods.

We've shared so much more now… but we are still _us_, still in _our_ place, because that is wherever we are together and alone, no matter if we escape the world or lock it out…

Mesmerized, I slowly reach up, tangling my fingers in Gale's hair and bringing his face closer until our foreheads touch and our breaths mingle.

"I love you." Gale's words are quiet, but no longer temporal and so animated they seem alive, like tiny winged beings fluttering in the gentle aerial currents between our faces.

"I love you too." My words are out to join his before I can actually _think_ about answering and we let our confessions hover between us like little invisible tokens of our elective affinity.

Then we capture and seal them in a kiss, light and friendly and heartfelt.

Time stands still for us but ticks beyond the door and I eventually have to open it. Our lips part as the lock clicks and we reluctantly leave our sunlit sanctuary to make _real_ war.

We share one last glance and a foolish wish that it wouldn't eradicate the connection of our souls even if it destroyed our bodies. That it wouldn't claim _us_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN no. 2:**

Thank you for reading, please tell me what you think :)


	4. Lead II

**Disclaimer:** The usual, plus I gave Katniss a paraphrased quote by M. Gandhi. No disrespect intended. Also, this chapter contains a relocated and very embellished conversation from Mockingjay, because I wanted to use it here. Oh, the advantages of fanfiction ;)

**A/N: **This is where we shift from the microcosm to the macrocosm – it has to go through another dark phase, so this one is rougher than usual.

Dedicated to** Amanda**, who persuaded me to continue this.

My dear readers, I thank you all for your wonderful feedback and hope you enjoy this next installment ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Turn Around<strong>

**Part 4**

Gold is perfect and precious, but also soft an malleable, and given enough heat and force of hard iron, it can be hammered to translucence.

To invisibility.

Nonexistence.

I felt it happening during the briefing that is supposed to decide the fate of the Capitol's impenetrable military complex. Gale suggested to use the very mountain that protected it and blow it up. To seal it with avalanches, so that no more hovercrafts would come out. And not many people, not even if we left the train tunnel leading out untouched to provide an escape route. We'd defeat our enemy by causing a huge mining accident. My protests were too feeble and too irrational to stop the decision.

Nobody had a better plan to offer and _something_ had to be done.

At all costs.

* * *

><p>My mind swirls with questions, still horrified by the conclusion of the meeting.<p>

_Do we all have our minds twisted and poisoned by the war like Peeta by the tracker jacker venom? Is the Capitol turning us to its own mutts even as we fight our hardest to defeat it?_

Gale and I are released with the rest, confused and angry each in our own way. I suggest hunting to blow off some steam and clear things up, but even as we make our way deeper and deeper into the forest with quick, purposeful strides, the tension only thickens. The silence between us is not comfortable now, but charged and incensed. We skirt each other like two heavy storm-clouds, threatening to clash with lightning at the merest contact.

When I tried to oppose him, the tenderness and devotion he regarded me with this very morning was completely overshadowed by the cold hatred for our enemies. If I didn't truly _know_ him, I'd have been afraid of him. I can't help but wonder if he finds the images of the girl he loves just as hard to reconcile with the girl who'd murdered in order to survive. _Or does he accept both as inseparable parts of me? Do _I_ accept them?_

I don't dare to broach the subject for fear of whatever revelations a private confrontation may bring and bite my lips in frustration. I feel Gale's gaze brush over my face now and then, intense almost like a physical touch, trying to gauge my feelings. Every attempt impels me to avert my gaze further away from him.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "Katniss?" he addresses me tentatively, like a wounded yet dangerous animal. The vague sound that escapes my throat in response only serves to reinforce the image. "What's wrong?" His tone suggests that he knows very well, but still wants to hear it. Or just wants me to vent and blow every bit of disapproval instead of stewing in it and letting it poison me from inside.

Perhaps it's better that way. Mistrust almost poisoned us before and I wouldn't want to repeat the mistake. Not after…

A small, pleasurable tremor runs through my body as I recall our clandestine activities of the previous night and early dawn. My steps falter slightly and I lean against a tree to regain my bearings. It was too wonderful to forget. Yet the silver and golden memories seem to fade to tinsel under the pestilent glare of the imminent future we'd as good as _decided_ on. Are we even good enough to share any affection together, if we can bring so much destruction upon others?

Gale stops in front of me, close enough to touch, but not initiating any contact.

„Someone suggested we blow up a mountain, if I remember correctly," I blurt through clenched teeth. "And someone else had no good-enough counterargument," I add to soften the blow. It's not like I didn't share the blame. After all, we are friends who share _everything_.

Instead of pulling back, Gale leans in closer, searching my face. "You think I'm heartless."

"I know you're not," I reassure him. It's not like I needed evidence to the contrary, but I can't resist pressing my palm against his chest to feel his heartbeat. "But I won't tell you it's okay. Not now, not ever," I add.

He sighs and squeezes my hand in his own. "Catnip, I'm not telling you it's okay either. It's terrible. But we are at war. _Nothing_ is okay, and nothing will be, not unless we win it."

"Aren't we just making things worse? Gale, we are blowing up a mine! You of all people should-"

"It's not a mine, Katniss. It's a military complex," he reminds me impatiently. "And even if it was, what difference is there, really, between crushing our enemy in a mine and blowing them out of the sky with one of Beetee's arrows? The result is the same."

"I don't know. We were under attack in Eight, for one thing. The hospital was under attack," I say.

"Yes, and those hoverplanes came from District Two," he says. "So, by taking them out, we prevented further attacks."

"But that kind of thinking . . . you could turn it into an argument for killing anyone at any time. You could justify sending kids into the Hunger Games to prevent the districts from getting out of line," I say.

"I don't believe it works that way," he tells me.

"I do," I reply. "It must be those trips to the arena."

He shakes his head, then bites his lip and remorse flickers in his eyes as he speaks again. "Arena? Tell me what you were thinking, _in the arena_, just before you bombed the Careers with the tracker jackers?"

The words are soft, but cut like a poisoned blade. "What the hell? They were trying to kill me, Gale!" I don't understand what he's aiming at and don't even know if I want to.

"No, Catnip. They were _sleeping_," he breathes, very softly, but the last word still makes me flinch. I open my mouth to protest, but Gale continues before I manage to wrap my jumbled thoughts into words. "But they had you trapped and they were going to try and kill you first thing after they woke up. You had to _prevent_ them from doing so. They have us trapped in a stalemate now. If we don't disable their military headquarters, they can get us anytime."

I stare at him, dumbfounded. I can't deny there is some sense to the argument, but what I'd done was somehow… smaller… more personal…more instinctive survival and less calculated destruction. "But," my voice almost falters at the beginning, but gains strength as I continue. "You weren't there in the arena, Gale. You don't know _exactly_ how it feels."

I expect him to yell, but he just presses his lips into a severe line. "No, I wasn't there," he concedes tensely. "But _you_ weren't there when Twelve _burned_." His voice is suddenly hoarse and strained as if the ashes of our destroyed home choked him even over all the intermittent space and time. "You weren't there, Catnip. You were just escaping from _your arena_, when the hovercrafts came, from _that damned mountain_, and set fire to our whole district." The words hold no accusation against _me_, but I still shudder under his steely gaze. "Weren't the ashes terrible enough, Katniss? You didn't see them _burn_."

_Burn_. They burned Twelve to match the Girl on Fire it inadvertently spawned. Even Gale burned there to match me. I shift my gaze to the scorch marks marring the side of his face and scrunch my eyes shut, as if my lids could block out the painful _reality_.

I want to say something, I don't even know what, and my mouth opens and closes as if the phantom smoke of _my_ punishment inflicted upon innocents choked me as well. My fingers subconsciously curl in the material of Gale's shirt, over his heart.

"It's not your fault, Catnip," he whispers, leaning closer. "It's the Capitol's fault. And if we don't win, it'll all have been absolutely in vain. We have to defeat them. Whatever it takes."

"Whatever it takes," I repeat, torn between regret and revulsion. "But doesn't that make us just like them? Doesn't thinking like that reduce us to pieces in their Games?"

"They considered us as pieces in their Games all our lives," says Gale. "Only now we are turning their own rules against them."

"Yeah, but… it's not the right way… doing things _their_ way is not right. Eye for an eye only ends up making the whole world blind."

He nods at the last part, but says, "Sometimes, no way is _right_."

"It can be found. Like Peeta in the Games-"

"What would Peeta do?" he cuts across me, his voice dripping equal amounts of derision and hurt. "Well, gotta admit his 'make love not war' strategy worked nicely enough. He pretty much won the Games by kissing you."

"So what?" I counter defensively. "Not everything has to be about destruction."

Gale grits his teeth in frustration. "Katniss, this is not your precious arena with twenty-something people. We are fighting to free the whole country now. So that nobody will have to go into the arena anymore."

"Couldn't the same principles apply?"

He shakes his head in defeat. "I _wish_ they could."

"That's not enough." No, it's not. But I failed to find a better solution when it mattered, and Gale knows that very well. He searches my eyes for a moment, his own unreadable.

"Trust me, Catnip," he whispers finally, his voice heavy with regret and replete with emotion. "If I could win this damn war by making love to you, I sure wouldn't waste my time blowing things up."

I stare at him wide-eyed, anger and _something else_ churning in the pit of my stomach. I want to slap him for saying that, but he'd captured both my hands in his own, suddenly pressing them against the tree so firmly the rough bark all but breaks my skin. Or perhaps to kick him, but I'm trapped between Gale's hard body and the tree, with no room to maneuver. He is _close_, his eyes burning unfalteringly into mine, and the intensity suffices to set me aflame too.

Before I can consciously decide what to do my lips smash against his. Hard enough to bruise, but it's _war_, so who cares if I hurt him a little? Gale definitely doesn't, because he kisses me back with equal fervor, and relinquishes his death-grip on my wrists only to grab my hips and eliminate the last vestiges of space between our bodies.

"Dammit, Gale, I wish it _could_ work like that," I gasp as he releases my lips to devour my neck.

Maybe we could at least pretend.

Grabbing fistfuls of his hair, I yank him away and start undoing his buttons with frantic desire. He does make a striking rebel warrior in that uniform, but I want _my_ _Gale_, now.

_Much better_.

I take half a second to admire how his warm tan contrasts with the cold gray fabric of his open shirt and then drag my fingernails down his chiseled torso and along the waistband of his pants, leaving _my_ marks on his beautiful skin. As a punishment or absolution, I don't know… I don't know and I don't care and it feels too good to resist. His muscles tighten under my deliberately painful touch and a growl rumbles deep in his chest as he lifts me up, pinning me against the tree. I wrap my legs around his waist and moan with reckless abandon as he unbuttons my clothes and returns my attack, his rough caresses conquering every inch of bared skin he can reach.

_What were we arguing about, again?_

I don't know, I don't care, right now all that matters is that we are doing something much better. We escape into our own world with shameless ease, as if slipping under the fence that used to encircle the _nonexistent_ district that we couldn't save, but can still _vindicate_.

We are in the middle of the war.

We aren't deep in the meadow under the willow, we are leaning against a sturdy gnarled oak in District Two. The ground is no soft green pillow, but a coarse mess of fallen leaves and twigs that snap like brittle bones on an ancient battlefield when Gale lowers my feet back down.

But the surroundings hardly matter. We _are_ our own world now.

Gale is my world and I am his.

My hands trail down his body again, this time low enough to discover that my soldier is at full attention. But Gale turns me away from him with irresistible force and my hands scramble for purchase on the rough bark of the oak as I struggle to regain my balance.

"Are you, are you, coming to the tree?" Gale growls into my ear. His gruff voice grates against every nerve in my body and fans the inferno raging within me even higher. I only groan in response and try to wiggle closer to him with dissolute impatience. Gale yanks our pants down with impressive speed and I bite my lips as his strong fingers dig into my buttocks, opening my slick folds for a victorious entrance. A strangled cry escapes me when our bodies become one again and dizzy stars flood my vision as we begin to move. Real storm-clouds have gathered above, swallowing the sun and submerging us in green shadow. The distant rumbles of thunder fuse with the wild hammering of our hearts and violent gusts of our breath.

This is no heaven.

Our military boots root us firmly to the ground and the uniform trousers pooled around our ankles constrain us like tin manacles, but the spell of our lovemaking still transports us away, to a place of freedom and unrestrained joy. Electric bliss cuts through my body like lightning as Gale shifts one hand from my hip to my core, enhancing my pleasure with deft caresses of his fingers. When the delight overwhelms me and my body begins to spasm around him, he clamps his other hand over my mouth, just in time to contain a scream that might have otherwise shattered the whole mountain. I bite into his flesh as I feel him shudder against me and we both lean closer to the tree for support when we come undone in tandem, united in a single pulse of life.

"Even if it's war, I've still got your back," Gale whispers as we catch our breath.

I laugh and lean my head back to kiss him in response, and he still holds me to him, even as the first raindrops of an uncommon autumn storm begin to cool our passion.

We are not letting go.

Gold doesn't perish in the vitriol of calcination, we may have burned to ashes together, but we no longer dissolved to me and him; we remained _us_, a unit that refuses to separate further.

* * *

><p>After weathering the storm under the oak, we clean up in a small stream along the way back. Before we leave Gale picks a small cluster of forget-me-nots, sky-blue like my first reaping dress, pushes it into my hair and whispers <em>I love you<em> against my forehead. I wrap my arms around his waist and lean closer to him, muttering the same words into his collar like a token for good fortune.

"They will surrender if we play it right," he says reassuringly. "It will be as okay as possible, under the circumstances."

"I wish you were right," I whisper back.

Just before we emerge from the sanctuary of the woods, I pluck the flower from my hair, squeeze it in my hand for a moment and deposit it safely into my uniform pocket over my heavy heart.

I don't want to forget my love and I wish I could forgive all my enemies.

But the time has not come for that yet.

The war has to be won first.

* * *

><p><strong>AN no 2:**

If you like it please put a review on it. If you don't please do the same, at least to tell me to shut the hell up. ;P


	5. Silver II

**A/N:** The worst updater ever strikes back :D Some of my friends and readers already know I've been planning to continue this story for a time and decided to expand it into an actual alternative ending. That required some actual plot twists, and thus the longest chapter I've ever written has been born. In fact, you can consider the first four chapters an intro concerning the bonding of my favorite pairing, and now we get into the bigger picture. About time, I know. But no worries, some content this story has become famous for can be found somewhere towards the end. Thank you all for the wonderful feedback, support and patience :)

All disclaimers still apply.

Without further ado, enjoy ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Turn Around<strong>

**Part 5**

It's happening. Avalanches of rock and stone are crashing down the mountainsides in a terrible symphony of destruction. A nightmare for both victims and perpetrators is coming true. And this time, the roles feel strangely reversed.

We have caused it.

Do we really have to ruin this much before we get a chance to create anything?

I dig my nails into Gale's wrist as we watch the destruction together, feeling small and insignificant in comparison to the unfathomable forces we'd unleashed. His hand seems to shake a tiny bit, in tune with the crashing boulders. Suddenly, I feel steadier. After all, I'd known the feeling ever since this rebellion's been attributed to me. He just caught up when I faltered at finishing what I started.

/

The stone rapids slowly ebb, tons of rock burying everything save the opening of the train tunnel.

It gapes like a huge dead black eye, eerie and accusatory. We can only hope there's some life left behind it.

/

Gale and I share a windowsill in the Justice Building, our heads resolutely turned towards the ruins we created. There's no need to communicate, we both know what waiting for someone to emerge from destroyed underground caverns reminds us of.

It wasn't a mining accident this time, it was a military decision.

It had to be done, and we did it the wrong way, because there was no right one. We achieved our goal and disabled the fortress. No more hovercrafts will issue forth to bomb us.

But what of those inside?

Closing my eyes, I see darkness and fire, panic and crumbling ceilings. Nobody should have to die like that, neither miners nor soldiers. They'd destroyed our district in fire and we buried in them in ashes, but what for?

For a war we'd never have fought if it wasn't in the Capitol.

It all comes down to that. This was just a step on the way, means to an end we like to call justified.

Steeling myself, I turn to look at Gale and study his profile for a moment, noting that his brow is creased and lips pressed into a bloodless line.

He senses my gaze and returns it; his eyes open for me to read. I see it all: the grim satisfaction with a perfect trap, the resentment for the fact that it had to be done, the remorse nagging through all strategic justifications. Some people there were guilty, but some were innocent, and he knows that. But war doesn't know any differences. With sudden clarity, I remember Peeta's words that murdering innocents costs everything you are. Does protecting other innocents somehow balance it out? What will be left of us when this is done, even to a victorious end?

My doubts must show on my face, because I see Gale's expression darken, the cloud of remorse pressing lower. "Catnip…" he starts carefully. His voice is slightly strangled, as if the tons of rock fell right on his chest.

I sigh heavily. No words either of us could say would make it better, at least not now. I blink slowly and an image of the Careers and Peeta scrambling frantically from under my tree after I'd dropped the tracker jacker nest on them momentarily flashes under my lids. "I know," I whisper. I didn't even think of it like that before, but now I see it. This is not the arena, this is bigger and worse. This is war.

All of this is wrong, and all is done for a chance to finally make something right.

It's bigger than us, yet a bit easier to handle when we are in it together.

Gale's eyes soften as they fix on me with a vain apology. I find myself unable to look away, taking comfort in the only contact we can currently afford. A loving proof we aren't _that_ full of rage and hatred.

I wish I could just turn and sit between his legs and let him put his arms around me and hold me together. I wish I could hold him up and help him bear the weight of the avalanche. But we can't do that, not here. When the cameras are around, he's _not_ mine and that suddenly makes me feel out of my element.

/

Midnight is drawing close.

The ghastly silence slowly gives way to sounds of a resumed struggle. Rebellious forces in Two, emboldened by the destruction of the mountain, must have picked up the fight to seize the city. Sounds of gunfire echo more frequently and draw nearer.

Gale stands abruptly, tension and anticipation battling on his face, his intent clear from a single glance he sends me by the way of explanation. I don't react, but as he moves to pass me, I lock my fingers around his wrist and hold on tight, feeling his quick pulse even through the sleeve of his uniform.

"Stay with me," I say softly. It's a plea, not a command, but what more can I do? If I couldn't convince one man, _my_ man, not to rush into an unnecessary fight, how could I hope to convince anyone else?

Gale studies my eyes for a moment and nods. "Sure. What d'you wanna do?"

I use my grip on his hand for leverage and haul myself off the windowsill, my stiffened legs hitting the floor with less grace than I'd like them to. Gale raises his eyebrows in surprise but steadies me dutifully, his fingers lightly brushing against my lower back, and then steps aside to a 'decent' distance.

"I don't know," I concede. "Maybe I should… speak to them." The very idea seems to turn my insides upside down, but it also feels_ right_. If my words couldn't prevent this from happening, shouldn't I at least try to prevent further bloodshed after the critical hit's been delivered?

It's the least I can do now. Gale looks at me with a mixture of anxiety and admiration. He knows too well how much I hate public speaking.

"If you think it's a good idea…"

I bite my lip and steel myself to answer, right in the moment when the earpiece I'd almost forgotten about comes alive. "It's a great idea, sweetheart."

I extend the microphone. "Haymitch?"

Gale frowns, but I hold a finger up to stave off his questions and clamp my other palm over the earpiece to block out the noises of violence from outside.

"Right in your ear. Care to share what you wanted to say?"

"Er…"

It's not like a snarky disembodied voice in my ear presented more intimidating audience than fighters with guns, but I still find myself slightly at loss. I know what I wanted to say, but articulating it suddenly feels harder that I hoped it would be.

Haymitch chuckles. "Good start. And then try telling them that the Nut is defeated and Capitol power here is broken and they better surrender. I'll get you through it, I just need your voice, Mockingjay. The crew's already getting instructions, you'll be broadcast all over the screens."

As if on cue, Cressida strides over to us with a microphone to attach to the costume I've been sitting in the whole time, and I'm suddenly glad that I at least thought about making the speech myself. I need to prove I'm more than just a suit and a voice, more than a piece in the game of rebellion.

That I have a bit of spirit to give.

For a silly, fleeting moment, I think Peeta would be proud of me. The real Peeta. I lack his natural gift of eloquence, but reaching somewhere deep inside my consciousness where his untarnished memory resides is enough to motivate me.

When we move towards the door, Gale automatically follows. He's half a step behind me, but I feel his reassuring presence and draw strength from his unquestioning support.

He'll have my back. Everything will be okay.

Right before stepping into the "spotlight", I turn towards him and meet his eyes. Even though he's almost a foot taller, I feel he's somehow looking up at me, as if I was above and untouchable, as if I meant something more than I can fathom myself. The appreciation from him, someone who knows me best and has seen me at my highest and lowest, gives me exactly the confidence I need.

I furtively extend my hand and he squeezes it at once, gently but firmly, relaying all the strength he can and I accept it gratefully. Then he releases me, slinking into the shadow of a marble pillar to guard me in secret. He can't step in front of the cameras with me now, but I know I wouldn't be alone.

I emerge to my bright spotlight on top of the stairs, taking in the surreal scene that constitutes my stage. The square is empty but for the cameras of my TV crew and moonrays glinting off all the marble. There is no visible audience to deliver my speech to, but my image appears on the big screens as soon as I emerge. I click on my microphone, hoping my voice would carry over the noise of battle coming from the dark streets beyond the square and make them _stop_.

"Quickly, sweetheart, we shouldn't give 'em time to target you. Start off all formal. People of District Two…" says Haymitch in my ear.

I listen carefully, then take a deep breath and steel my voice.

"People of District Two, this is Katniss Everdeen speaking to you from-"

My words are interrupted by a twin screech of trains arriving at the station right opposite the steps I'm standing on. People tumble out, heavily armed and just as heavily injured, followed by billows of black smoke. Gunfire takes out the lights in the station and somebody in the Justice Building follows suit, safely drowning me in shadow. Perhaps I should retreat, but I can't bring myself to. This is the moment that matters most.

Someone escaped the trap. To die or to live? Who will decide? Who has the _right_ to decide?

Fire from the train spreads to the station, pushing them outside, onto the square surrounded by machine-gunners ready to shoot. And so are they, waving their weapons and moving towards the exits. Reluctantly, because they know very well what might await them, but the fire drives them inexorably forward.

_If you burn us, you burn with us._

It's been both said and done, more than once. But I don't want more people to die in fire, not if I can help it.

The first 'enemy' to emerge is young, hardly older than Gale, singed and battered. He presses a bloody cloth to his face with one hand and clutches a gun with the other. I watch him stumble forward, trying to think how different he is from all the injured I've seen my mother treat at home after mining accidents.

When he trips over his own dragging feet and falls, exposing gashes from burning debris on his back, I become blind to whatever differences there might be.

Before I can think about it, I'm flying down the steps towards him. Volunteering to help, like Prim would, and shouting, "Stop! Don't shoot!" My words echo over the square, drowning out the scuffling steps of survivors emerging from the station. Army of survivors. I'm already close enough to see the first one in the eyes, glinting with pain and fear and crazed resolve.

He's already dragging himself up. Lifting his gun. Aiming it straight at me.

"You stop," he rasps, lips moving sluggishly in mutilated face.

I do so reflexively, braking so fast I almost fall face-first to the ground.

My bow is still in my hand, but unstrung and empty. I lift it slightly, the loose string waving in the breeze like a peace offering.

It's not enough.

"Tell me one reason why I shouldn't shoot you."

I look straight into his eyes, my thoughts rushing at the speed of light.

A quiet _click_ behind me alters their flow, but just for a moment. I don't need to turn my head to know what's happening.

Gale has followed me down (of course he would!) and must have stopped the very moment I did, few yards behind me. I don't see him, just his shadow stretching out along with mine. The shadow is holding a gun trained on the man, in a perfect stalemate. I'm sure the same goes for all the gunners on the roofs, though, so it doesn't really matter. One shot, from any gun, and all three of us will be dead within a second, caught in the crossfire.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see us on the big screens, broadcast for the whole district to see, perhaps even the whole Panem.

"We have the same thing to lose," I say cautiously. I don't want to make it sound like a threat. Right in this moment, I even don't care whether he shoots me or not. But I can't let him do that, because that would bring death upon all his fellow survivors. And that's what I'm trying to prevent.

He snorts derisively, injured face twitching to a smirk, macabre like an open gash.

"I'm dead anyway," he rasps.

"No, you aren't. None of you are. We aren't waiting here to kill you," I correct him. _Not if I can help it_.

A barking laugh is my answer. "So blowing the mountain was enough?"

I know how rich my words must have sounded, given all the soldiers around and gunners on the roofs.

I have to convince him.

So I let my bow fall from my hand and watch it clatter on the flagstones. I raise my empty arms away from my body, using one hand to wave at Gale to lower his gun. I know how much he must hate relinquishing a means to fight and protect me, but he couldn't shoot them all anyway. I watch his shadow obey reluctantly, the barrel of the gun scraping against stone as Gale braces it into a fissure between flagstones, the handle propped against his knee, within easy reach. Then he straightens slowly and stands absolutely still, but I can almost feel the tension emanating from his body, ready for action the split-second it becomes necessary.

"It was too much," I concede. "Just like you burning my district to the ground. This is war and we are supposed to have every reason to kill each other, right? So if my death is what it takes, kill me. Make the Capitol happy. I won't kill you. I'm done with their games."

Gale is silent behind me, but I can hear him yelling at me in my head. I'm doing everything wrong, I know. Against all survival instincts. Only this isn't about me surviving anymore, but about dealing with whatever I'd inadvertently started by refusing to lose my body and my soul in my arenas.

About stopping the Hunger Games that have turned the whole country into an arena, reaping everyone without a difference.

"It's not a game," says the man.

"Isn't it? Would district people kill each other if it wasn't for the Hunger Games? And what now? Will we keep killing each other until the only victor is left? It won't be me, it won't be you, it won't be anybody from the districts. It will be the Capitol. Do we let that happen?" My voice rises with every word, loud and clear. There are no birds that might stop to listen, but soldiers do, and that's what I need.

"We have no reason to fight each other, except for the ones the Capitol gave us. And what reason do you have to fight the rebels here? People from your own district, you neighbors, maybe even your family?"

He shakes his head in confusion, but the gun remains trained on me. Just in case, and I can't really blame him. What have we done "just in case"? I breathe deeply and continue. I'm not dead yet, and I'm not giving up.

"See, that's right. No reason, because they are not your enemy. We have one common enemy – the Capitol! It's always been us against them, but they made us fight among ourselves to divide us. Now we have a chance to end the power the Capitol has over us. To be free. But we need to fight together. All of us, every person from the districts."

I spread my arms, reaching out too everyone willing to listen, both here and beyond the screens. my gaze is fixed on my audience here, but I don't see their guns, only their faces. They are people, not just enemies.

"We need you to join us. Please."

I watch the crowd for reaction, but none is forthcoming. I can hear my own heavy breathing, amplified by the microphone.

Silence is my answer.

Then a single sound breaks it, a sound I can't ignore.

"Catnip!"

Instinctively, I turn towards Gale's voice tinged with despair. Just as I twist my torso, a bullet grazes my upper arm, sliding over the protective material of my suit. I don't want to know where it would have hit if I hadn't moved.

The next few events seem to occur all at once.

Gale's body collides with my side. Another round of shots ricochets through the square. The flagstones collide with my front. Bullets whizz above, answered from all sides. My head aches dully and colorful spots dance in darkness before my eyes, my arm is paralyzed with pain and blood pours over my back in frightening amounts.

Seconds later, I realize that the blood drenching my mockingjay outfit is not mine.

But it might as well be.

It's Gale's.

His weight above me grows heavier and his breath shallows out.

Gunshots still ring all around, but now more sparse and distant.

My head throbs in pain and shock and my hands and face sting with abrasions, but I'm not hurt, Gale is. I know I need to get away and bring him help, but I don't dare make a rapid movement for fear of hurting him even more. I settle for inching away with utmost care, incessantly tortured by the fact that every second adds to the pool of blood gathering around us.

Somewhere beyond, shooting fades to shouting, and then to silence, but I hardly pay attention.

By the time I inch from under him enough to worry about what to do when I slip all the way out and my body no longer supports his prone form, medics finally descend on us, carefully moving Gale away from me and asking _me_ how I feel.

I shake them off.

"I'm okay, leave me alone, you have to save him," I chant rapidly, over and over again, my tone increasingly hysterical, fingers clawing at white sleeves of their uniforms. It's like when I watched the doctors try to save Peeta after we got out of the first arena, the feeling I'll never think my way from this place if he dies here.

Luckily, they realize the Mockingjay is well enough if she's ready to protest and set about doing what's necessary.

My head still spins, but when they get him ready to move him, I stand up by myself, brushing away strange hands, and insist on sticking with Gale as long as possible.

/

When the door to the emergency operating room in the makeshift hospital just off the square closes after him, I finally let myself be dragged away for my own medical check-up. I let them take off the top half of my mockingjay outfit to check my arm, whole but already blossoming with dark bruises, yet refuse to relinquish my undershirt that hides marks on my skin and the locket hanging around my neck and falling over my heart.

After they make sure I'm not really injured and dab my abrasions with some antiseptics, I slowly make my way back towards the door Gale's disappeared behind and wait. I wait for a long time, flattening myself against the wall to get out of the way of hurrying medical staff and patients being rushed all over the place, avoiding everyone's eyes and making myself as small as possible in order not to provoke anyone to make me leave.

I have to see Gale come out of there, I have to make sure he didn't die for me today. And kick his ass for trying, on the off chance he's well enough to survive _that_.

Patients are wheeled in and out, and I strain my eyes in search for Gale, my heart clenching more and more painfully every time _it isn't him._ When I finally catch a glimpse of him as they rush him past, he's deathly pale and smothered with tubes.

Instinctively, I start after him, but a nurse grabs my arm and stops me.

"Where do you think are going?" she barks. Recognition dawns in her sharp, weary eyes when she takes a better look on my face, but I can see my "status" rightfully wouldn't win me any favors here.

"I need to see him." I have to try anyway.

"Impossible. You shouldn't even be here in the first place."

"I'm sorry. At least tell me how he is. Please."

"May I ask what's your relation to Soldier Hawthorne, Mockingjay?"

"I'm his…" I don't exactly know what to add. That seems true and just _enough_. "… Cousin," I force out. We never cared about that back in Twelve, but Prim told me that by proper procedure, medical records are privy only to relatives. So the nasty lie might work in my favor for once.

The nurse nods, even though I can tell she doubts the story, and considers me for a moment as if searching for words I could actually understand. "The surgery's been successful. He is in stabilized condition and shall make full recovery."

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I won't lose him. I won't.

She continues speaking, but I can hardly hear her over the sound of my relief, only noting the most important things. Supposedly lucky… few bullets just grazed him... some damage to spleen and liver from the deepest wound, but not_ critical_… lost a lot of blood, but not too much to survive…

Survive. He'll survive.

Weight is crashing down from my heart like the avalanches that's rushed down the mountain, leaving little reason in it's wake.

"We took out the bullet-" she continues.

"Please give it to me," I blurt before I can stop myself.

Her eyebrows fly up in surprise. "I beg your pardon?" For a moment, she looks at me as if she wanted to give me the "mentally disoriented" bracelet I'd worn in Thirteen instead.

"Give me the bullet. If you can. Please?" I try. I realize how insane the request is, but I suddenly need it, I need something of Gale to hold onto. I'd rather hold onto him, healthy and whole, but since that's not an option, I'll have to make do with a token of a sacrifice. Again. At least in this case I can be sure Gale will come back to me, unchanged.

She studies me for a moment, perhaps deciding if denying the silly requests of an unstable Mockingjay is worth the trouble.

"I'll see if I can find it."

She disappears back into the operating room and I doubt she'll return now that she got rid of me, but I still wait. What else can I do now but wait?

To my surprise, she emerges after a minute or so, revealing a glimpse of staff readying an operating table for further use, and offers me a silvery projectile, obviously wiped clean of blood and maybe worse. I reach for it unsteadily and snatch it from her open palm, holding on tightly until the pressure becomes painful.

"Thank you," I say sincerely and as firmly as I can bring myself to.

"You're welcome, Miss Everdeen." She stabs me with another penetrating glance. "But if you ever felt any need to discuss-"

She is interrupted by another patient being wheeled into the room, but obviously awaits some kind of reaction before leaving me to my devices. I shake my head vehemently, hopefully not vehemently enough to arouse further suspicion. "No, thank you. But I'll keep the offer in mind, just in case," I add, trying to make it come out as _normal_ as possible.

She nods with a small smile and hurries in, shutting the door after herself.

Finally, I force myself to leave too and my tired legs hardly carry me to my room in the barracks. Without bothering to turn on the light, I collapse onto the bed I'd shared with Gale mere 24 hours before, now so cold and empty. I curl up with my bent legs pressed against my chest, hugging myself as close as possible and clasping Gale's bullet until it digs into my flesh almost as if it'd been shot there. My mind still reeling with everything that happened, I'm stranded, tired and alone. Not _eternally_ so, but intensely enough to _hurt_.

/

The first sound that disturbs my solitude after some indefinite time makes me startle, my chin bumping against my knee as I flinch. It's an odd, raspy, disembodied voice.

It takes me few confused seconds to realize it's coming from the wireless earpiece I'd mindlessly stuck into the pocket of my pants. I pull it out and put it where it belongs, extending the tiny attached microphone to my mouth.

"About time," drawls a derisive voice.

"Haymitch?"

"Who else? Congrats, sweetheart. We just received the official surrender from Two."

I emit a choked sound in response. At what cost?

"And care to explain what happened there?" he continues. "You know you shouldn't roll around with your cousin in front of the cameras."

I grit my teeth. "Gale got shot. Instead of me. You saw it." I try to infuse the words with accusation that's false anyway, but fail as my voice almost breaks at every syllable.

A slight pause and a sharp inhale. "Dead?"

"No," I breathe. "No. They patched him up."

Haymitch chuckles, with less grim sarcasm than usual. "Don't worry, then. That kid's too damn stubborn to die on you, sweetheart."

I sigh audibly. He has to be.

"And you're whole?"

"As whole as I can be," I reply vaguely. I need some time to figure it out.

I can't see his smirk, but I hear it in his voice. "Good. And on the off chance you're still interested, Peeta survived the first mention of you without a mental breakdown today."

My heart clenches even more painfully than before. What an achievement. Will the suffering on my account ever end?

"What exactly?" I choke out.

"We let him listen to the recording of the Hanging Tree you sang. It didn't exist while he was captured, so they couldn't have used it against him."

I frown into the gloom. "He never heard me sing it."

"Not you, but your father. He remembered him singing it. Was okay with it even when we let him listen to your voice. Said he remembered how the birds stopped to listen when your father sang and that they must of done the same for you."

Now my frown inverts into a smile, but tears slide their way from under my lids and fall down my cheeks, unchecked. The combined memory on top of everything that happened in the past few days is too much to bear. I squeeze the bullet tighter in my fist, and clench my other hand around the locket where the pearl resides.

"Sweetheart?" says Haymitch into my sudden silence.

"I'm here. It'll be okay." It's more like a series of choked sobs than words and I don't even know where is the faith coming from, but my mentor understands and replies with a non-commital grunt that _can_ be interpreted as affirmative. He doesn't disconnect after, though, and he is there for me. Right in my ear to help me through, his breath a score to my thoughts.

_The Hanging Tree._

I remember the last time the song incessantly echoed in my head - during the rescue mission in the Capitol, while I bloodied my fingers on the piece of rope I kept compulsively knotting and re-knotting.

When Gale went to save Peeta.

Gale and Peeta. Peeta and Gale.

_Are you, are you coming to the tree, where the dead man called out for his love to flee…?_

The Hanging Tree

Isn't it what we are all coming to? Giving our lives, giving our souls, giving our spirits.

So far we've all managed to return before it was too late, but how long is our luck going to last?

In every moment I live to see, _we_ live to see, I can only say it lasted long enough.

I reach over my head and take off the locket, opening it in my palm. Mom and Prim smile at me from one side, Gale from the other, and my imagination paints Peeta's smile on the surface of the pearl, iridescent even in the semi-darkness I'm languishing in. I add the bullet to the collection, and then scramble a few feet along the bed to the uniform I'd discarded there before donning my Mockingjay outfit and reach to my pocket for the forget-me-not Gale gave me, now crushed and wilted but no less precious.

Then I close the locket with everything inside and twine the filigree chain around my fingers, letting the pendant rest in my palm. I clasp the hand it over my ear, and the other one too, drawing the earpiece closer. I'm like Annie Cresta now, blocking out the world and listening to my heart.

Heart that speaks volumes now, because it's always been most eloquent in the face of loss.

Losing Peeta the way I lost him feels like losing a guiding light fate brought my way, failing a nobler purpose than my own survival. Haymitch said he'd endured the first mention of me without a mental breakdown today, but I don't know if I'm quite there yet. I believe we'll both overcome the poisoned fear, but the guilt and sense of injustice still crush me. I'd call myself lucky if I ever regain his trust, let alone friendship, and I swear to myself I'll try to repair the worst damage I'd inadvertently instilled, as far as I'm able to and as far as he lets me. But I know that the romantic love that painted me in bright colors in his imagination will be gone, leaving only dull reality in its wake. Considering the torment it'd brought him and confusion it brought me, it might even be better than way - it would reveal a real foundation to build on, if there is something to build. The realization that I need Peeta to be saved for his own sake, not for mine, is both fulfilling and liberating.

My possessiveness seems to have shifted target, or perhaps just refocused where it wanted to be even before I realized it.

Losing Gale now would be like losing half of my own life, the half I _care_ about more. He loved me _because_ he knew me and took me for who I was, accepting both the good and the bad. Even though our interaction before used to be chaste in the physical sense, it left little thought and emotion to the imagination. I took everything he was for granted, until we've been separated, until he almost died on me for the first time after the whipping, until our friendship almost got consumed by the flames of war. However much I tried to convince myself otherwise, Gale, the only person with whom I can be myself, means too much for me bear his loss.

And after everything that happened in the past two days, my reaction is even more visceral. Gale is _mine, _a part of my life, a part of_ me,_ and I'd claw him out of the grip of death if I had to. Luckily, I don't have to. He is "stabilized" and drugged beyond pain, his body already coping with the damage.

It will be okay.

I realize my earpiece is buzzing with static now. Haymitch either dozed off and let it drop out, or thought I'd fallen asleep and discarded it.

It's okay.

When the morning star winks at me from afar and new dawn breaks beyond the window, cloudy and silvery blue, my mind finally finds enough peace to rest. I dream of warm hands and cool water, of wind rustling through branches and sunlight filtering through willow leaves.

/

When I'm finally allowed a visit, I startle at the sight of Gale under the dimmed fluorescent lamps of the hospital ward. The odd light turns his face even sicklier shade of pale, so uncharacteristic for him it scares me. His cheekbones, always sharp, now all but cut out from his skin. I stroke them lightly with my fingertips, keeping the touch as gentle and furtive as I can bring myself to, relishing the warmth of life I feel radiating from him.

Gale is alive.

Slowly, I trace the hollow of his cheek and continue down his neck, feeling his drowsy but steady pulse along the way and stopping in the hollow of his clavicle. Alive. After glancing around to check if I'm unobserved, I peel back the collar of his hospital shirt a bit, peeking underneath to inspect the scratches I'd left in his skin mere hours before he took the bullet for me.

My marks are still there, now faded from angry red to dull pink, obviously having been treated with some antiseptic. _Mine_. I smirk slightly as I conjecture what the doctors made of them, and can't help but feel relieved that my injuries (quite negligible, thanks to Gale) didn't require me to undress too much in order to be treated and cause me to reveal the places where his fingers and teeth dug into my flesh hard enough to bruise. Perhaps I should, but I can't really bring myself to feel remorse for us hurting each other in an uncontrollable explosion of love. Love hurts differently than war, and makes war hurt differently too, but it's not something to be regretted.

Perhaps if I didn't love him, I wouldn't feel so horrible about him suffering instead of me. But I can't deny that I love him, and I don't ever want to, not anymore. My attempts to do so have caused us more harm than good from the very start.

Carefully bracing myself against his bed, I lean over to touch Gale's lips with mine, our breaths mingling and skin barely brushing. I don't kiss him, not quite, because after kissing him in the full blaze of life, it suddenly feels wrong to do so when he can't feel it and respond. I'd done it after the whipping, short months and seemingly long eons ago, when I'd been too afraid to kiss him while he was awake, and actually regretted learning that he remembered it. I won't make such a mistake again.

I want him to be awake and to feel my love as soon as possible, but I know I'll have to wait patiently. Reluctantly pulling back, I settle on a chair near him and curl up, listening to his breath and drinking in his image. I'm a hunter, I can wait.

/

When Gale finally greets me with eyes open, though still hazed with painkillers, the flood of emotion that crashes through me is almost too much to bear. I take him in, pale and pained, but beautiful and alive, still surrounded by tubes and machines that have no business being near him.

Love and joy and relief create a vortex dragging me down, right to my base that is anger.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I burst out.

The break in my voice belies the belligerence of the statement and provokes a slight smile that vanishes as soon as it comes. Perhaps he interpreted it wrong, as another accusation for what's happened.

"Catnip-" he begins, his voice muddled and strained.

"I mean this!" I wave my hands indicating the hospital bed and his condition.

Gale sighs, almost in relief, and watches me for a few moments, his eyes conveying all I really need to know. But when I finally make my way to him, carefully sitting on the side of his bed and taking his hand in mine, he does speak, "Nothing, really. My first instinct was to protect you. Someone shot at you from the back, not the guy you'd been talking to. I couldn't shoot, not while you were talking. There were too many of them anyway. But I told you I've got your back, so I watched out for you. I couldn't have failed you."

I squeeze his hand tighter. "You could've died, you idiot."

His expression darkens. "It was my plan, Catnip. You wouldn't have been there, in that exact danger, if it wasn't for me." He lightly tugs at my hand and I let him bring it to his lips, suppressing a guilty shudder of pleasure as he goes on to mutter against my fingers. "If anyone should have died for it, it was me. Not you. Some consequences are just…" His voice falters, as if crushed by the thought of imagining me dead, and I just nod. I've thought along the same lines more than enough as he lay dead to the world in the hospital.

"Too much," I finish for him. Gale nods solemnly and presses a kiss to my hand, slowly lowering it into his blanketed lap afterward.

How many people, how many families have we forced to give too much for our cause? And how many we have spared? How many people did my intervention spare? I shudder inadvertently, overwhelmed by the significance.

"I'm sure your plan didn't involve me running right into the firing line," I say softly and Gale smiles wryly in response. "But I just…" There's no way to explain it in words and Gale doesn't need me to anyway. "_Had_ to," I offer ineloquently. "I had to do everything I could think of."

"A simple 'surrender and we'll treat your wounded' from your cover may have helped," says Gale carefully after giving my vague statement few seconds of consideration. "We'll never know. But you were-"

"So was I just stupid… and reckless?" I cut across him, suddenly avoiding his gaze, afraid to see some sort of accusation there.

"Oh no, Catnip." He lifts his free hand, fingertips brushing against the back of my neck, thumb tilting my chin up. His eyes are alight when I finally meet them. "You were a rebel leader. You were to die for."

"You know I wanted to achieve the exact opposite," I remind him unnecessarily. "And is that supposed to mean I'm too horrible to live with?" I quip before he can answer. Considering how ready have both Gale and Peeta been to risk and give their lives for me, I could surmise as much. Looking back at how I treated them in return, I couldn't blame them. But I know Gale didn't mean it like that.

He just smiles indulgently, that beautiful familiar smile I've never seen him give anyone but me and Prim and his family. A smile I trust. "You are too amazing to live without. Whatever you choose to do, the world would be a sad place without you."

I decide against attributing his confession to painkillers and lean in, to assure him that I feel the same and that at least a part of my choices is clear. I can only hope he's well enough to survive a proper kiss, because I don't hold back.

Luckily, Gale indeed is too stubborn to die on me.

Few heated moments later, we break apart for breath and I gently press my hands against his cheeks.

"Thank you," I whisper sincerely.

"Anytime," he whispers back, his breath caressing my lips before his mouth follows suit.

"Don't you dare to do it again," I mutter between kisses.

"Depends," he quips and presses closer, his tongue seeking mine to engage in a different battle.

I relax into the kiss and try to keep it gentler than before, but only for Gale's sake. I know we'll have to return to 'no public displays of affection' soon, but even if the nurse whom I'd told Gale's my cousin watched us, this moment of reunion is too delicious to be spoiled by restraint.

/

While Gale remains in the hospital, I visit him as often as I can, to talk a little and steal furtive touches, or for the mere comfort of briefly inhabiting the same space and drawing reassurance from each other's presence.

Apart from that I shoot a propo to let Panem know that I survived the impromptu assassination attempt safe and sound, visit people in District Two to raise the morale of the now-united rebel troops and add my voice in the negotiation with the last pockets of resistance.

Now that Two has allied with us, the war effort has reached a lull, rebels regrouping before the final attack on the Capitol. Communication has become safer and I spend a lot of time talking on the phone with Haymitch, who gives me vague but promising updates about Peeta, and Prim who can heal my tired and troubled mind by the very sound of her voice.

But one day she delivers news both wonderful and unsettling. "We'll see each other soon, Katniss. There'll be a wedding, Plutach kept going on about how it will be good for the morale or something. And Haymitch said he's always arguing with Coin about how and where to do it and…"

I hardly listen to her prattle on, my mind paralyzed. "Wedding? What wedding? How come nobody told me?" I blurt when I finally find my voice. _They can't possibly..._

Prim laughs brightly. "Calm down, not yours. Finnick's and Annie's. I think they haven't decided everything yet, that's why nobody told you. I know just because a proper dress is not on the budget, so Haymitch said I could go with Annie to our house to pick something of yours. If it's okay with you."

She must be talking about the collection of fancy dresses Cinna had left me. My heart clenches at the thought that I'd left them in the empty house to gather dust, but the remorse vanishes almost instantly. It doesn't matter now, they will still serve a wonderful purpose. I know Cinna would love the idea and I smile slightly as I picture Finnick's fragile lover in a creation of his, her eyes shining with happiness instead of anxiety. "Of course," I say softly.

"We can pick something for you there too," adds Prim. "Anything you'd like?"

"Whatever you like best, Little Duck." I don't have any preference, and I trust her judgment anyway.

I can hear the radiant smile in her voice. "Okay."

After we say our goodbyes, I can't stop the corners of my mouth from curling perpetually upward. The future holds a guaranteed bright spot, a happy even I can attend together with Prim. Having something to look forward to truly does wonders.

/

The wedding ends up taking place in District Four, Finnick's and Annie's home, to fulfill their deepest wish and to show that they are free to live as they please. Breeze blowing from nearby ocean caresses us all and sky brightens with the first orange tones of sunset. I watch with a slight smile as they exchange wedding wows, covered by a net they'd made together according to their tradition, touch their lips with saltwater and kiss to seal the marriage. Plutarch asked me to put up a performance for the cameras and feign happiness to the best of my ability, but I find myself in no need to pretend.

Gale, who is already up and moving and stubbornly insisting he's _fine_, accompanies me and sits beside me, our legs furtively touching, and my mind stubbornly trying not to stray towards ideas I've never let myself entertain willingly before. I can feel his eyes perpetually wandering over to me and don't dare to meet them, but I know the gaze holds more than just admiration for the light silvery dress Prim had picked for me. Resisting the temptation to pull closer requires most of my self-control.

We all sing along to a traditional wedding song of District Four to conclude the ceremony, and then a fiddler from home stats a familiar dancing tune. I steal a questioning glance at Gale, but he just vaguely gestures downwards and grimaces, so I dance with Prim first, both of us smiling and twirling as if we didn't have a care in the world. We even teach everyone a traditional dance from Twelve, a reminder of home than can never be destroyed and burned. This time, I'm actually happy for the cameras recording us and giving us the chance to show the Capitol that our spirits won't be crushed. Every now and then we dance past the spot Gale had picked to sit and watch and I feel his eyes on me, adding a spark of fire to my lightheaded happiness.

Perhaps we could dance all night, but an unexpected surprise interrupts us: the arrival of a huge multi-tiered cake, covered in blue-green frosting modeled to form white-crested waves and dotted with colorful miniatures of sea-life and tiny chocolate boats. People crowd towards it, admiring the magnificent creation, and I push through them to confirm something I already know. Peeta must have made it. With steady hands and calm mind and eye for beauty. Something of him is not lost, then.

Prim, who had followed in my wake, beams proudly. "It was my idea. Like therapy. I thought it could bring him back. How he used to be…" She hesitates. "Before everything. Haymitch helped me put it through, and looks like it worked."

I hug her tightly, but keep my eyes fixed on the cake.

_Frosting, the last defense of the dying._

That's what he'd said, so long ago, and now it helped again, this time to save his soul, not his body.

"That's amazing, Prim." I bend down slightly (my, has she grown, how come I hardly noticed?) and press a kiss against her forehead. "You can heal everything."

She blushes at the compliment. "Maybe you could try to talk to him when we get back to Thirteen."

I hesitate. "Like… who?"

Prim frowns, trying to make sense of the question.

"Not a mutt, for starters," says a voice from behind us, accompanied by a whiff of alcohol. I turn my head sharply to meet Haymitch's grin. "We don't exactly know what's happening in his brain and how he will react. But it might be good for both of you to convince him you aren't out to kill him, if you'd be so kind."

"I.. I'll try."

"Good. Nobody expects anything more. He'll appreciate if you don't grow teeth and pounce on him, but I guess that's all you can get now."

"I guess," I repeat with a sigh. Even that's more than I deserved most of the time.

He squeezes my shoulder supportively. "Whatever you do, just don't lie to him, sweetheart. At best you'll be starting from scratch, so don't mess with his head this time."

I smile gratefully. "Good. I don't have to anymore, do I?"

"Oh no." He winks with a slight smirk, more knowing than I'd like, and disappears back in the crowd.

Meanwhile, Annie already managed to make the first cut and the cake is being served. Prim got herself and huge slice and makes her way out of the impatient crowd, only to be surrounded by Gale's siblings and a laughing Hazelle trying to make them behave. I smile as I promptly get my own portion and make my way back to Gale, who'd kept his distance with his arms crossed. The guests and cameras are focused elsewhere, granting us a semblance of privacy.

Gale he returns my greeting smile with the same brilliance, but his brow creases almost comically when he peeks closer at my trophy. "Sea-cake?"

I shrug lightly. "Peeta made it for Finnick and Annie. Frosting therapy."

His frown deepens ever so slightly. "Good for him, I guess."

I just shake my head. "Good for everyone, trust me. Try it, it's wonderful." I scoop a forkful and inch it closer to his face.

Gale visibly relaxes, but purses his lips and shakes his head when the fork comes too close. "Can't. They put me on a diet. Liver something."

But I can tell he's lying, and not even trying to pretend he's not.

"C'mon. it won't hurt _us_." Gale notices my emphasis on the last word and searches my eyes for a few moments. Then he nods and parts his lips, braving the glob of sea-blue frosting.

"Not too bad," he concedes, eyes twinkling, and snatches the plate and fork from my hands to return the favor. I try not to laugh with my mouth too full and steal it back after, defiantly finishing the slice on my own.

Gale just watches me with a smirk and waits until I discard the plate on a nearby table.

"Wanna take a walk?" he asks then, leaning close enough for comfort but too close for decency.

I raise my eyebrows. "Weren't you all hurting a while ago?"

He shakes his head and shrugs. "Just to get out of dancing. Wouldn't wanna do that on camera," he whispers and bends his elbow for me to take.

"Like that would make any difference," I scoff as I take his arm. He still walks a little stiffly, but the familiar grace is already returning into his movements.

Gale is silent until we weave our way through wedding guests and disappear into the gathering twilight. Only then leans close, lips touching my ear. "I meant you couldn't expect me to act like your cousin while dancing," he whispers, low and hot and predatory.

A shudder of pleasure runs down my body, reminding me how _sorely_ I found myself missing him while he recovered. My breath hitches in my throat and I can barely find enough willpower to retort. "Why? Are cousins forbidden to step on each other's toes?"

We've already reached the beach and the pointy heels of my shoes sink into the sand, making me stumble. Gale, despite my teasing ever the more nimble between the two of us, snorts with laughter and "saves" me by pressing my body closer against his.

"That's not what I planned on doing," he reiterates, suddenly stopping in his tracks and dipping me over one arm.

Stifling a surprised gasp, I brace my arms behind his neck and sneak a glance over his shoulder. We should be far enough from the twinkling lanterns above the open-air reception by now, so I allow myself to lock my gaze with his. Our lips lock seconds later, in a decidedly un-cousinly kiss.

Gale straightens without breaking the contact and holds me flush against his chest, my toes barely skimming the sand. We sway in place a little, the lazy tempo of our feet contrasting with the frantic rhythm of our tongues. When Gale's hands slide down to my hips and press me even closer, I can tell we are both quite eager to move onto an entirely different form of dancing.

Not here, though. We are still too exposed for that.

I somehow summon enough presence of mind to disconnect our mouths, however reluctantly. He moves in to close the gap at once, but I don't let him and silence his protest with my fingers against his lips. "We need to get further away. Just in case."

Comprehension dawns on his face and he presses a soft, lingering kiss to my fingertips. "Okay."

Even despite Gale's tight hold on my hand, I stumble few more times before we reach the sea, so I take off the offending shoes and carry them in one hand as I walk right where the waves meet the beach, enjoying the soft wet sand under my feet.

Night is already darkening around us, showing off the bright evening star like a single jewel upon darkest blue velvet, but a hint of deep turquoise still lingers on the western horizon. I keep my head turned there as we walk, staring over the vast expanse of unfamiliar water. Suddenly, I wonder if Finnick and Annie walked here too, enjoying moments of temporary relief from the horrors the Capitol forced upon them. Just like we do now, but I don't feel entirely at home in their place, however wonderful it is.

I instinctively tighten my grip on Gale's hand and silently hope we'll sometime make it back to the lake in our woods, and there will be no frost on the ground and no ice and Snow dividing our hearts. I feel Gale squeeze back in return and know he must be thinking along the same lines.

"I wanna take a bath," I say suddenly as we round a high outcropping of rock and find ourselves in a tiny secluded cove that should offer enough privacy, especially with the transient shadows of early night. The ocean may not be ours, but it's boundless and free and in endless motion, and I'm almost overwhelmed by a desire to jump in, to become a part of it like I used to become a part of our woods at home. And to wash away all the stuff my prep team put on me before Gale and I become two parts of one whole.

Gale has his arms wrapped around me from behind and chuckles above my shoulder. I can feel the bandages under his shirt when he presses close enough and feel a pang of remorse for my thoughtlessness.

But he doesn't seem to mind that. "I'll have to pass," he mutters into my neck, placing alluring kisses in the wake of his breath. "But you go ahead." He moves my braid out of the way and slowly slides open the zipper on the back of my dress. I stand entirely still, only my insides squirming with the pleasure that washes over me as Gale pulls the dress down, the pressure of his palms warm and tantalizing even through the silky fabric.

I step out of it and turn to take it from Gale's hand, carefully folding it and laying it on top of my shoes. After a second of consideration, I take off the locket with my most precious mementos as well and add it onto the pile of beauty Cinna had lovingly crafted for me.

Gale sits down just beyond the reach of the lapping waves and follows my every movement with hungry anticipation. I can tell he's enjoying the temptation, though. He's the best hunter _I_ know and can savor the wait. Especially if the wait involves me slowly removing my underwear… which may just make up for me taking a running dive into the waves immediately after.

For a few moments, I'm weightless and breathless, floating on my back under the dawning stars and washing away the role that's been pushed onto me before assuming what I want. But since Gale can't join me now, I keep the immersion brief.

I emerge from the water and stand right over him, naked and dripping pearls of saltwater, moonlit to gleaming mercury. Gale's intense silver gaze slowly follows them, setting fire in their liquid wake and devouring me from head to sand-buried toes.

"You know, I could also take a dip somewhere," he says when he stares his way back up my legs, but no higher.

He can't see it, but he'll definitely hear the teasing smile in my voice. "You sure you up for that?"

"Why don't you find out?" Gale grins, quickly grabs my ankle and tugs with a sudden burst of strength. Caught off guard, I tumble unceremoniously into his lap in a pile of wet limbs. I let my hands wander a little, only to discover that indeed he is.

The appreciation must show on my face, because his grin turns into a devilish smirk.

"I always have a little blood to spare for you, Catnip."

I smirk back and bring my lips to his ear. "That's very nice of you," I whisper. "Just don't go spilling it all over the ground too much, we can put it to better use." I pull away only to meet his gaze filled with enticing promise and trail my hand up his torso, gently skimming over the bandages revealed under his unbuttoned shirt and seeking bare skin.

Gale slowly lays down in response, his eyes penetrating mine like moonbeams filtering through a curtained window. Trapped in their enchantment, I most willingly follow and brace myself over him, palms splayed on either side of his head, knees buried in the sand by his waist. I find myself not touching him anymore, save for my inner thighs inadvertently brushing against his ribcage with every rapid breath he takes. Before I can remedy it, he touches me instead and I have to dig my nails into the moist sand to retain my balance.

I'm above him now, but only by chance and sheer circumstance and _not_ untouchable. I need his touch to anchor me and strengthen me, and why not admit it, to indulge me. Gale knows that, he knows what I need. My breathing quickens as his fingers travel up my arms, brush over my shoulders, trace every contour of my face with gentle reverence. I try to capture his fingertips in my mouth on their way past, but he just smirks slightly as they graze over my lips and past my playful tongue to continue down my neck. I throw my head back in rapture when he moves to caress my chest, his large palms cupping my breasts already peaked to sensitivity by the constant flood of sensations.

I arch and moan into his touch and my body seems to melt under the heat, the sheen of seawater that still coats my skin turning to lava. My elbows give way and I sink down onto them, sliding my forearms over the sand and tangling my fingers in Gale's hair. I lean down, careful not to smother his injuries with my weight, so I end up pressing my breasts against the unbandaged skin of his chest.

My mouth has already found his, so I feel his light growl of appreciation vibrate against my lips as he winds one arm around my shoulder to keep me there, hand curling around the back of my neck to tilt my head lightly and deepen the kiss. His other hand travels downward, tickling my spine with nimble fingers and possessively splaying over the slight curves of my hips and thighs before slipping between them to bring my ecstasy into whole new level. I try to squirm away before it overwhelms me, but there's nowhere to go, Gale has me trapped and every movement I attempt only adds to the intensity. All I can do it to moan breathlessly against his lips until he wraps my wet braid around his fist, pulling my face away from his to admire the effect he has on me just as my muscles spasm uncontrollably around his fingers.

I chant his name to the ocean breeze that fans over my moist swollen lips, as if I wanted to baptize and claim the very atmosphere of the another place where we can belong to each other

After few seconds of basking in his smugness and radiating satisfied gratitude through my eyes, I struggle lightly against Gale's grip and this time he lets me. Dipping my head, I avoid his mouth and trace my lips along his jawline, down his neck, and then I'm flowing down through his relaxed arms, all the steel that was in me molten into fiery kisses that seek to cover every available inch of his skin, to anoint him with the same saltwater that had cleansed me. His hands find their way into my hair, but aren't guiding me, because I don't need guidance, I can read him just as well as he can read me, and even if I couldn't, the stars on our maps are pointing to the same place.

I have felt hunger on a beach before, but not like this – insistently and irresistibly pulsing between my lower lips, not begging but demanding to be satisfied.

I take my time, though, brushing my lips over his abdomen, tracing the lean planes of muscle all the way down and caressing him with my tongue. His grip tightens as I close my lips around him, my name rolls off his tongue in deep hoarse waves and merges with the whispering of the surf. When Gale gently tugs at my hair to coax me up, I don't resist. I can't ask for too much, not yet. I need him inside me so much it hurts, but the promise of imminent fulfillment turns the ache to sweet bliss. Carefully bracing my hands on his shoulders, I sink onto him and sigh in contentment. Our conjunction feels just as natural and inevitable as the ceaseless motion of the waves. Gale's palms travel up my thighs to grip my hips as we undulate together, first gently and lazily like the calm ocean lapping at our toes, then picking up pace spurred on by raw desire and joy of a long-awaited reunion.

We've always been a storm amid serenity when together, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

Gale's face is creased in concentration and I can tell the strenuous pleasure is also causing him pain, but his rhythm matches mine perfectly and never falters, each swell of delight tossing me closer to the paradise shore.

Soon my head falls back and eyes roll wildly, I don't know if the stars I'm seeing are real constellations of the nightsky or mere quicksilver fireworks of my own bliss. Our fingers struggle for purchase on slick skin, material bodies clinging together as something more soars in tandem; and I open my eyes just to see the universe exploding in Gale's, love, beauty and bliss and _everything_. For a moment, we just exist in a world that it entirely our own, a world where we are pure and bright and true. Perfect.

We carry it inside, as a part of _us_, and we can always return.

* * *

><p><strong>AN no. 2:**

Thank you for making it all the way down here. Whether you liked it or not, please put a review on it - I'd love to know what you think and if this killer-huge chapter was worth it :)


	6. vitriolum

**A/N:** *sigh* I'm out of my depth and out of my mind, and I'm VERY sorry. And very grateful to anyone and everyone who still has the patience with me and this story. Finally, here comes another chapter, covering half of what I originally intended, but it's long enough as it is, and it was either this or making y'all wait another eternity and a half. Hope you enjoy anyway. Dedicated to Twiss because closets and reasons ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Turn Around<strong>

**Part 6**

After the lush forests of Two and the open horizons of Four, our descent back to the depths Thirteen felt like a burial, yet another death to be survived.

I'm still trying not to choke as I navigate the shadowy underground maze, but the stale air thick with foul memories is the lesser of my concerns. Anxiety has been constricting my throat ever since Haymitch told me Peeta asked to see me, and now the pressure increases with every step I take towards my destination.

I don't even know what scares me more: what will I see in Peeta, or what will he see in me?

Probably the latter.

Shuddering at the idea, I half-blindly turn a corner and stop short a step before colliding with Gale and Haymitch, engaged in a whispered debate. They both fall silent when they notice me.

"What happened?" I blurt, frowning up at their grave faces. "Is he… "My voice falters a little. "I mean Peeta… worse?"

Gale clenches his jaw, in a way I recognize as nerves rather than anger, but Haymitch just smirks.

"Oh no, Sweetheart, he's eager to see you. But no worries, all restrained so that he won't squeeze the life outta you. C'mon." He glances at Gale, and then turns on his heel with almost suspicious briskness and strides back towards the hospital.

Gale steps towards me instead, but I withdraw slightly and raise an eyebrow in a silent question. _What was that about?_

"I'll tell you right after, if you'd want to. Promise," he whispers_. _Then he looks over his shoulder to check the corridor behind us and offers me his hand when he discovers it's empty.

With a little hesitation, I slip my own slightly trembling one into it, taking comfort from his firm warm grip. "Fine." I hate not knowing about something important going on, but there's too little time now and I have too much on my mind as it is. I'll have to do my best to make Peeta see I'm not _something_ to be feared forever, and undo at least a fraction of damage they'd inflicted on him on _my_ behalf.

And I'm afraid that's more than I can do, even at full capacity.

"Are you going to watch?" I ask Gale tensely as we trail after Haymitch.

"I won't if you don't want me to," he says.

I consider it for several silent moments. _Do I?_ "If you want to know, please do," I whisper finally, right before we pass though the last doorway.

Gale stops and frowns in confusion. He'd seen too many scenes between me and Peeta, and I shouldn't be asking him for another mandatory viewing, but I can't help it. "I guess I wouldn't be able to tell you anything after."

He nods. "Right. I'll be watching your back, Catnip."

I muster a tiny grateful smile and squeeze his hand in acknowledgment. Of course he will.

Then we let go and he lets me through the door first, following a step behind.

* * *

><p>The room is milling with people and I push my way through them, suppressing a sudden urge to scream at them and kick them out. Rationally, I know they are here to help, that they have helped Peeta already, but the thought of him being observed all the time sickens me to no end. Just as much as the idea of talking to him in front of them all.<p>

But I have to, both for his sake and my own. Like always. I can only hope some good can still come out of my efforts.

"Ready?" asks Haymitch , pressing something small into my numb and barely cooperative hand. The earpiece.

I don't reply and stare straight ahead, through the glass, forcing myself to face the horror of his change. Again, but at least I'm prepared now.

I find less than I expected.

At the first glance, Peeta looks… good. Calm, almost bored, no longer the glaring image of hatred that's been haunting me since I'd left him here.

Fine too. The medics of Thirteen have successfully erased the most conspicuous traces of torture, the bruises are gone along with the dismal purple pools from under his eyes, cuts have faded into barely perceptible scars, haggard features have filled to restore his familiar countenance.

But I know there's a deep me-shaped wound gaping underneath the surface. A chasm full of poison replaced something far more beautiful that I used to take for granted until it's been destroyed: love selfless beyond my understanding, and so tightly woven into the fabric of his being that he all but fell apart at the loss. It's not my intention to restore his sweet illusion of me in its entirety, after all, I've gone beyond a point I don't want to return from on a different path. But I have to try and imbue the void with truth we both could live with.

I'm not innocent and I've never been perfect, I'm neither the singing girl of his dreams nor the snarling mutt of his nightmares.

The truth is somewhere in the middle, buried deep, but hopefully not beyond discovery. Like the memory of the time when I imagined orange sunset at high noon and took Peeta's hand extended in pure friendship, holding it for a precious moment free of pain and pretense.

But it is gone from _his_ mind, and I have a very painfully scraped tablet to fill.

Haymitch waves a hand it from of my face, tearing me from my thoughts. "Stinking underground calling, Sweetheart."

My head snaps sharply in his direction, a defensive frown subconsciously forming on my face.

"We don't need two of you spazzing out," he elaborates gruffly.

"Yeah, I'm ready," I snap, throwing the earpiece back at him. I'm as ready as I'll ever be, and I'm not going to cheat.

He doesn't try to argue, but his smirk falls before I turn entirely away and I catch a fleeting glimpse of my anxiety reflected in his eyes. We swore we'd protect Peeta, Haymitch and I, but we lost the first round and we still can screw up even worse.

But our mentor still trusts me, and I'll do my best not to disappoint him.

* * *

><p>Right before the door to Peeta's room (or is it a cell?), I pass Delly Cartwright, Peeta's childhood friend who'd volunteered to keep him company and help him to restore his memory of a home long gone. Her pale face has the pinched look of a healthily plump girl who'd lost a significant amount of weight in very short time, and her once remarkably bright blue eyes are clouded with ashes of an incomparably greater loss. Yet she graces me with a soft, encouraging smile that effectively breaks through the gloom. Perhaps she trusts me as well. I really try to lift the corners of my mouth, but give up after a futile twitch and manage only a nod.<p>

What do I mean to tell her? A 'thank you' for helping him when I can't? A promise I'll do my best not to send him over the edge and undo her success?

Hopefully both.

* * *

><p>When I shut the door after me, slowly and with special care, I suddenly feel as if I were back in the arena, in a microcosm beyond a forcefield where nothing matters but the reality at hand.<p>

I'd thought my final reality, my dying wish, would be saving Peeta. Converting it into a living wish feels much harder. And how can I help him now that nothing threatens his life, but the identity he'd prized much more has been tarnished?

Peeta watches me warily, his blue eyes cold and penetrating. No longer promising heaven, but giving me the hell I'd deserve from him.

I approach him slowly, refraining from sudden movements and forcing myself to hold his gaze.

He tenses as I near him, probably still half expecting me to sprout claws and attack him – restrained and helpless – at any moment.

I'm still an enemy to him.

I force a deep, calming breath into my aching lungs.

What is he to me?

Vivid memories of his kisses on my lips and his chokehold on my throat wash over my skin in tingling waves, confounding my thoughts into a bittersweet vortex. I'll have to find something else, untainted by the shadow of fear and fight. Something from beyond the games, something real, reliable, and free of the confusing web of truth and lies we'd spun to save each other from the Capitol.

An indestructible foundation to fall back onto when everything else crashes down.

It's almost laughable how easy the answer is.

He's the boy who'd given me bread with a side of hope in an unfathomable and incomparable gesture of kindness. That's what he's been to me even after the first reaping, when I believed he's out to kill me. That's what he still is, even now that he's been forced to believe I'm out to kill him. Even now that his memories of me are jumbled and my memories of him are overshadowed by the horror of the last one, _that_ can't be taken away.

Unfortunately, even when I have a foundation, I don't really know how to build on it. Have I ever known at all?

"Hey," I greet him uncertainly, stopping a few feet away, not daring to invade his personal space just yet.

"Hey," Peeta answers, a slightly mocking edge in his tone.

"Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me." Peeta's always been the one to know what to say. _Had been_, I correct myself. Now I can no longer expect him to talk me out of trouble.

"Look at you, for starters," he says, giving me a quick once-over. Though fully clothed in a loose-fitting gray uniform, I feel far more exposed than in the jungle arena where we'd talked and touched only in our underwear. Perhaps because of the haze of infatuation has fallen from his eyes, revealing me as I am. And that's…

"Nothing special, are you?" he concludes.

Indeed. The confirmation hurts deeper than I should let it, making me bristle.

"Now you're talking," I say coolly, even though I know that's not entirely true. It's not exactly _him_ talking. "Is that a promotion from being a mutt?"

He grits his teeth for a moment, so hard I can see the pulse of his jaw muscles. I shouldn't have used the word. No, definitely not. Why is it that I never know the right thing to do, not around him?

"And not even remotely nice," he comments. "Well, you weren't all that nice on the tapes they'd showed me either, so I guess it figures."

"You are the one known for being nice," I retort, harsher than I intended. I know I should tread carefully, but feel clumsier and louder than Peeta trampling through an autumn forest. "I just did my best to go along."

Peeta studies me with narrowed eyes, and then he closes them, opens and looks again, scrunches them shut and shakes his head. Mere few moments in my presence, and he's already falling apart. "And to think I went through that all for you," he mutters, seemingly more to the pictures in his mind than to me.

The accusation, fair or unfair as it is, cuts deep, especially because that's exactly what I've been thinking about for weeks. I open my mouth to defend myself, but no words come, my own breath got caught in my throat, choking me.

"I must have loved you a lot," Peeta concludes in a forlorn whisper, as if he couldn't comprehend the meaning behind the words anymore.

Images flash before my eyes, confessions and kisses and little gestures and bread, bread, bread, making my head swirl. "You did," I say faintly.

"And what about you? Did you love me?"

I don't know what to say. It wasn't the love he expected or the love I faked for the Capitol audience. I have no idea how to put my affection for him into words. Not with other people watching, not when he stares me down like this. All I know is that I felt it and I still do, so much it hurts. "I… I tried." I say finally.

It's not a good answer.

"Tried!" he scoffs. "It looked like you were trying to kill me first. When you dropped the tracker jackers."

"I was trying to kill all of you," I admit through clenched teeth. How ironic it is that I'd thrown a tracker jacker nest at him when I unjustly considered him my enemy, and now Snow imbued him their venom to make him consider me his enemy. Murder can take many forms. "You had me treed."

"And then there was a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very sincere on your part. Did you really want to do it, or was it all for the games?"

I think about the last kiss I'd given him in the Quell arena, the one with which I'd have given him my life if I only could. Of course, I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for the games. But I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't for him either.

"Some were just for you," I say truthfully. "D'you know there are people watching?" I add. I don't want to elaborate on that, not now.

"I know. They are always watching, aren't they?" he scoffs and spasmodically clenches and unclenches his fists, his piercing gaze leaving my face for a moment and glaring at the one-way glass. "What about Gale?"

I purse my lips and draw a deep, slightly shuddering breath, willing myself not to blush. I genuinely didn't know what about Gale _then_, and I can't afford to tell him about me and Gale _now_, but I can't lie either.

Peeta grits his teeth audibly, eyes still fixed on the glass as if he sensed Gale beyond.

"This is about me and you, Peeta," I say finally. "Not about me and him. You know I did everything I did in the arena, even though I knew he watched."

And I know Gale is watching now, and I know I must be hurting him. I'd let him go in the arena, twice, and I don't want there to be a third time, but this is about me and Peeta again, and he needs to understand that. They both need to understand.

Peeta turns back to me and frowns, this time more confused than hostile. "What were you playing at, then?"

"What you wanted me to," I say softly, trying my best to prevent it from sounding like an accusation it's _not _meant to be_. _"As close as I could make it."

Instinctively, I step closer and reach for his hand, but he pulls away, as far as his restraints allow him, so I let my arm fall limply. Peeta's pupils are already dilated almost to the point of swallowing the irises, and his whole body, his whole being shakes slightly. Perhaps he doesn't believe me, perhaps my words clash too much with whatever lies they'd fed him, and his tortured mind can't make sense out of them.

I'm already outstaying my welcome, I can tell, but once I started, I can't stop. I need him to know at least one thing for certain, and the war may not grant me another chance.

As I lean closer, I can see my reflection in the moist pools of blackness his eyes have turned into. Yet a thin ring of blue still surrounds the tiny abysses, the familiar forget-me-not blue. I focus on that, the light lining.

I'll never forget what he meant to me, what he _means_ to me, and I need him to remember that…

"I cared, Peeta." No answer, but I take the lack of protest as encouragement. "I still care and always will. You are too precious to be lost to their Games. In the first arena, I wasn't trying to save you for myself, but I wanted… no, I _needed _to save you. It wasn't my way, all the words and the kisses, but it was the only way that could work. And we made it. I saved you, you saved me."

I pause, studying his reaction. Peeta stares me down, unblinking, and air wheezes in through his parted lips. "In the Quell, I'd have given anything to save you. It was my dying wish to save you. And I…"

The long indrawn breath will explode soon, I can feel that.

I have seconds left.

My voice falters in fear of the word I must pronounce next, but I force myself on. "… _failed_ in the end and I'm… "

His face scrunches up.

"Get out!"

The scream chases me to the door, confusion and pain and sheer terror clawing at my heels as I flee from them, an unvoiced apology turning to ashes in my throat.

A blonde blur streaks past me, Delly rushing to comfort Peeta. Seconds later, I collide with another – Prim – and all but tear her to the ground as I crumple against her much daintier frame.

She wraps her arms around me, supporting me with strength that defies size. "Don't worry, Katniss," she whispers. "You did fine. It'll take him some time to… come to terms with it. It always does."

_Same goes for me_.

With a sigh, I squeeze her in my arms as tightly as I dare without crushing her. It's frightening how easily the most precious people can be lost, and being able to hold onto her provides at least some relief. She keeps muttering breathless encouragement, bandaging my torn heart to the best of her ability. That's what I can let her do, but I can't trap her under the weight of my own guilt.

Reluctantly, I straighten up, palms still on her shoulders – no longer as bony as they used to be, I notice with fleeting satisfaction. She's certainly bloomed in every aspect, even here, hundreds of feet under the surface.

"Will you be okay?" she asks earnestly. "Do you need me to go with you?"

"I'll be fine. I just… need a little time to… think," I say reluctantly. I'd _want_ her company, but I have no excuse to take her away from her work that completes her so. I'd like to believe I'm not yet a patient, and I should straighten my thoughts myself before burdening her with the gist of them.

Prim nods and moves forward for another short hug. "He is getting better, trust me. He reacted better than we feared. I know it hurts you more than I can imagine, Katniss. But you can't let it beat you down. You can give him hope only when you have some yourself," she mutters into my shoulder.

"Too true, Little Duck," I sigh, even though I already know too well that _something_ in her is so much greater than I could ever be. "I'll let you do your job, then."

She laughs at the old endearment. "We'll see each other for Reflection, right?" she says with a curl of her lip.

I roll my eyes and kiss her forehead lightly. "Sure."

Right now, I feel like I could reflect for an eternity, and it would be nowhere near enough.

Turning around, I almost walk into Gale, who stood near – at my back as he promised, pretty much shielding us from the gaggle of doctors and experts swarming in front of the one-way glass.

Our eyes meet for a moment, his radiating concern, my own I-don't-know what, because I can't quite think of any message to convey. But he understands anyway, and brushes his fingers against mine as I pass him, comforting and familiar. Letting me go when I need him to, and reassuring me he'll be there when I'll want him with me.

On my way out, I make a point of avoiding Haymitch, because I don't need my disappointment returned twofold with an extra dose of sarcasm. Luckily, he doesn't try to stop me and give a piece of his mind.

Nobody does.

Right before passing out of the door, I dare a single look over my shoulder and through the glass. Peeta clutches Delly's hand in a white-knuckled grip as she leans over him, brushing damp hair away from his forehead. I can see just half of his face, but the corner of his mouth is up. A smile, mere shadow of his old one, but still a smile. Tiny and perhaps unremarkable under normal circumstances, like a dandelion shooting from frozen earth.

To remind me there's still hope. For him, for all of us.

Elusive like a ray of light, but just as indestructible.

Hopefully.

* * *

><p>I walk the corridors at a brisk pace, resisting the temptation to break into a run. The sooner I find a hiding place, the better. I'm doing my best to keep away from people and averting my face from the few I do encounter, since I'm not in a state in which anyone should see me. If I knew how exactly I feel, it would help, but I don't. There's loss and emptiness in a place that used to be full, remorse and heartache and guilt guilt <em>guilt<em>.

The first convenient-looking door that yields to my touch leads to some tiny storage closet; I notice outlines of shelves and dilapidated cupboards before slamming it shut after me and feeling my way into a corner to curl in through total darkness.

I don't even mind it, I close my eyes anyway and look only inward, digging through layers of wrongness. I tried, I tried in the first Games, I tried in the Quell, and the results were always pain. More for Peeta than for me, but his devotion seemed to cushion every impact, or at least make it worthy in his eyes. Until it's been stripped, leaving raw wounds I can't fully heal, but will do my best to alleviate if he lets me try again.

But we are outside of the arena now, and we aren't each other's _only_ salvation. Even beyond the pain, there are pure memories unaffected by the Capitol, and hope that hadn't been fully crushed. Not when Peeta can still smile, even though it's not at me.

Perhaps I'm selfish when I let the thought console me and allow myself to believe I didn't betray him by finding my own solace elsewhere. But I just stayed true to myself, and now we might be free to reconcile the notions that used to be contradictory.

I can only wish the process won't bring even more pain.

* * *

><p>After some time, I have no ways of telling how long as I might have fallen into uneasy half-slumber at some point, the door opens again and an emergency light flickers overhead. My instinct acknowledges the visitor even before my senses do.<p>

Gale.

Who else?

I squint at him the dim yet too-bright-for-me light filtering through peeling red paint on a dirty glass ball. The first thing I really notice as my eyes travel upward is that he's not wearing his comunicuff. Very good riddance, however temporary. I make no attempt to greet him, but when he sits beside me, carefully leaving few inches of space between us, I immediately eliminate the gap and lean into his side.

"It was true, you know. What I said," I mutter after few silent moments. I wonder if there is some rift between us now, if there _has to_ be. I certainly don't want that.

He raises his eyebrows in confusion. "I never doubted that. What exactly d'you mean?"

"That I care for Peeta. Very much. And that I tried everything to save him. No matter what."

Gale smiles slightly. "You don't say, Catnip. I must have noticed before you did." I punch his arm indignantly, but he just captures my hand for a quick squeeze and continues. "You showed them how good you are. I'm not telling you I didn't want to smash the screen and the arena and everything whenever I saw you two together. But… I also saw you when you had to kill… and that still hurt more."

"It did," I agree and shift in front of him to look into his eyes. "Still does. But then… you see where it all got us," I sigh, vainly attempting to push painful images of Peeta's suffering and change from the forefront of my mind. Then I raise my hand, lightly running my fingers over the light burn marks on Gale's face. "What I've done to the whole district. And… to you. "

"It wasn't your fault what they've done to him, Catnip. Or to Twelve. You've done what you could to prevent it. And as for me… you saved me more than once." He gently traces the whip-scar on my cheek to emphasize the point. "And it's not like I didn't repay you by being a total pain now and then."

"It wouldn't be us if we went too easy on each other, huh?" I say with a wry smile.

Gale mirrors it exactly, and his eyes sparkle a bit, and I know I wouldn't have it any other way. As I bring my other hand to his face as well and press my lips against his, the suddenly freed locket falls back to my chest, the pearl and bullet rattling inside. Our kiss lasts for a few moments, almost innocent, more an apology and a pledge to try better than an expression of lust. Gale pulls away first, but not too far, only to press his forehead against mine, and I let my eyes fall closed, breathing comfort from his proximity.

"I've been meaning to ask," he says softly after few moments, looking down and brushing his fingers along the chain of the locket. "What d'you have there?"

I hesitate, slightly embarrassed, but then open the locket for him. Why would I keep any secrets? The forget-me-not, already dried, has been ground to fine flakes between the pearl and the bullet that constantly moved with me.

To my slight surprise, Gale ignores the weirdness of the display and reaches straight for the bullet.

He frowns and stands up, holding it to the light and examining it.

"Where did you get it?" he asks tensely.

"They pulled it out of you," I say, as calmly as I can bring myself to. "In Two."

He mutters something nasty under his breath and then inhales sharply. "Katniss-" he starts earnestly, but I interrupt him.

"Hey, and what have you been talking about with Haymitch? You promised to tell me now." I still do want to know, before we get distracted with something else.

Gale clenches his jaw for a moment, as if steeling himself to speak. "This," he says finally, in a voice heavier than the lead he's holding.

"What?"

"This," he repeats. "You know, from the way I got hit, I've always suspected you've been shot at from the wrong side as well." His voice drops to a grim whisper. "From _our_ side. Haymitch tried to get uncut footage of the incident, but it's nowhere in the accessible records. Coin is keeping her own secret, but we haven't found a way to get to them without attracting attention."

Apparently, we've been right not to trust her. "So she wants to get me out of the way after my work for her was done?"

Gale nods grimly. "Yeah, that's exactly what we suspect," he squeezes through gritted teeth. "And this pretty much proves it, you know."

He gestures with his fist closed around the bullet. I raise my eyebrows questioningly.

"It was a prototype. Made here in 13. A bullet to penetrate standard body armor."

_Or a mockingjay suit_, he doesn't say, but we both know.

The realization doesn't hit me like a bullet, but sinks in slowly, leaving a cold, dull ache. I squeeze my eyes shut for a torturous moment, unable to respond.

"Was _that_ your idea too?"I say finally, the words hardly making it out of my constricted throat. I don't even know if I want to know the answer.

"Not exactly. Even military research is team work, you know. But…" He bites his lip, hard. "It seemed to be a… useful one. To end the war more quickly."

"To end the war more quickly…" I repeat, spitting the words out like venom.

"Before more innocent people needlesly die, Catnip," he reminds me.

I shake my head, scrunching my eyes shut, explosions and gunfire erupting under my lids. Twelve. Eleven. Eight. Defenseless people dying in a war they didn't even truly fight in. And the bullets were designed against soldiers, Capitol soldier, armed and killing on the enemy orders. But are they truly the enemy? Are they guilty? Are they guiltier than we are? Are they guiltier than I am?

Reeling with questions, I stand and move for the door, desperate for escape, but Gale moves to block in my path, crouching slightly to look right into my eyes. "Katniss, we have to be careful. The war will have to end at our terms. If not…" He hesitates slightly. "You know too well what would happen."

"Yeah," I concede. Everything would be unimaginably worse, rendering every sacrifice vain. Surviving to see it would be the worst punishment. "But what are 'our terms'? If Coin tried to get rid of me, her terms would be different than 'ours'," I whisper.

Had the bullet flown few inches the wrong way, had Gale not saved me, I would have been already dead. Out of the way. But Gale did save me. My most trusted ally in a world of enemies. There has to be some hope.

"We can't afford to go against her openly. Not before we defeat the Capitol. And sometimes, you simply have to fight fire with fire," he adds.

"Yeah." There are moments when there's no other way, however much I wish there weren't. "But fighting on their terms… Coin's and Snow's... sacrificing others…" I remember how Peeta put it in the second propo, when he so vividly painted the picture of the arena with his words. "It costs everything you are."

Gale shakes his head dismally. He has seen the propo with me, he must remember. "Oh yeah, your Peeta was right on that one." He frowns and takes a deep breath. "Catnip, what on earth makes you think haven't figured it out yet?"

Unable to answer, I stare into his eyes, darkest grey in the dim light, dark like despair, dark like the ashes and stones and steel weighing heavy on his soul. A burden similar to my own, just on a different scale, and one he would never bear if I hadn't given him the opportunity. A burden I can't let him bear alone. We are friends who share everything, aren't we?

"But that's what I'm willing to give," he continues. "So that nobody else will have to go through what happened to us all." He touches my cheek gently. "What happened to _you_. And to make sure you live to see the future. It will have to be better."

It won't be better if I lose him along the way. I need him with me, both to make it through and to cope with everything after. Who else could I share my burdens with this naturally?

I sigh. "So I do matter, even in the grand scheme of things, right?"

Gale nods. "For everyone. While you live, the rebellion lives, Katniss. The real hope people have in you. Not Coin. _You_."

"And to you?"

"To me, you matter most. I love you," he says. Simply, openly, without a thought or hesitation.

It hurts so good.

"I know you love me," I say firmly, as if it was indeed that obvious, and Gale flinches slightly. I've said this once already, and that wasn't a good time.

I lay my hand on his chest, pressing my palm against coarse fabric and cold metal buttons, feeling the beating heart underneath. I couldn't bear it to stop, to become cold or tainted beyond saving, to become anything but _mine_. Somewhere deep inside me still remains a grain of selfishness, of unwillingness to let _everything_ become a sacrifice.

Sometimes, I'm strong enough to leave it behind so that it wouldn't anchor me to the earth and hinder my Mockingjay-flight, but now I don't have to. I'm only with Gale now, and with him I can be myself, flawed and striving just like he is.

"I know," I repeat, softer, my fingers curling into his shirt, one slipping through a gap between buttons to feel his warm skin. I close my eyes under his intense gaze and tears inadvertently roll from under my eyelids. "I know. But who'd love me if I lost you? If you lost yourself?" I whisper.

I've just seen how easy it is, there behind the glass, I've seen how fragile we are, not only our bodies, but also the spirit inside that should be untouchable, how the war can take _everything_. And how _I'm not letting it_. Not while I can, but how long am I going to?

Gale doesn't answer, just leans down, lips brushing my face, kissing the tears away.

I taste them on his tongue when I pull his head down to claim his mouth in a feverish kiss, suddenly desperate to possess him, to make him a part of me, to make absolutely sure he won't slip through my fingers or be ripped from my grasp. At least for _now_, that forlorn little sliver we can steal from eternity.

Again and again, though.

Gale responds in kind, pressing me against him so tightly I can hardly breathe, but I don't care, his kisses fill with such vigor I remember the need for air only when my head begins to swirl. I push him away just long enough to inhale and far enough to start fumbling with his buttons, not content until I slide his shirt off his shoulders. My fingers, slightly numb from being scrunched between our bodies, tingle as I caress his skin, navigating along old and new and newest scars and carefully avoiding the deepest wound still hidden under a bandage. The wound that would have killed me, that is still killing me, even inflicted upon his body.

Especially now that I exactly know _how_.

I look up, still tracing the edge of the bandage, and it hurts me deep within as if I dragged my nail along my own naked heart.

"I'm not losing you to this," I whisper. I don't even know what I mean. War, weapons, murder, death?

His face is flushed and gaze wild with desire, almost frighteningly so, but my words stir up something in the dark depths, remorse and tenderness and so much love I futilely wish it could be a force used to win the war.

But I know well enough that's far beyond its scope. Love can save only ourselves, our own a golden buoy in an ocean of grey. And just likes he loves me with everything I've done and caused to get out of the arenas, I realize I love him with everything he's doing to ensure nobody else will have to go to an arena anymore. I just can't not.

Love is not a payment, but a gift, and denying it can hurt so much more than giving it.

Leaning forward until my lips touch his chest, right over his heart, I whisper into his skin, "I love you too, Gale. And I need you with me, as long as I live." And it's so true it hurts. Just like I wouldn't have won the Games if I'd lost Peeta, I wouldn't win the war if I lost Gale, not really. If there's any chance for us to survive our ordeal in this crossfire, we'd better do it together.

I feel Gale's heartbeat quicken, his sigh in my hair. "Anything for you, Catnip. Anything."

I know as well as he does how well-meant yet meaningless our words are, that the eye of the storm is no place for reassurance, but I take what I can get, give what I can give.

Sliding my arms around his waist, I splay my palms over his back, over the marks of injustice wrought deep into his skin. We're fighting so that nobody will have to go through _that_ anymore. It's not only the Games, it's always been bigger than that, bigger than we can truly fathom.

And it feels so good to cling together in the middle of it all. Because that's what we do, don't we?

True, Gale's hands can trap and kill, just like my own, but when they caress me this way, warm fingertips lightly dancing over my cheeks and neck like the sunrays that can't reach me here, I feel as free and alive as if there was no reason to fear any kind of death.

My lips move on their own accord, caressing his chest and tasting his skin, and my fingers trace the scars on his back as if I could make everything alright, erase all marks that ever cut too deep.

Moments later, I gasp as he grasps my hips, effortlessly pulling me away and lifting me to sit on top of a stack of boxes that levels our heights so that he can reach me better. His lips travel along the line parting my hair, to my forehead, to my face, covering every inch of my skin with infinite gentleness, sliding along my jaw and leaving a tingling path down my throat.

When he starts to unbutton my shirt to gain better access to my collarbone, I don't even think about stopping him. I don't think about anything at all, and find sweet, selfish relief in shedding my garments along with my worries.

Gale is mine and I am his. I don't want anything dividing us, not now.

The ruddy glow of the emergency lamp turns our skin the same shade of burnished gold as we melt and flow together, our bodies merging in a whirlwind of desire. Tender kisses and touches soon turn ferocious, fuelled by the heat rising from deep within us, twin flames longing for the most intimate union. When the urge mounts beyond control, I drop my hands from Gale's body just long enough to brace myself up and allow him to slip my already unbuttoned pants from under me. His palms slide down my legs, pushing the fabric along with them, sending shivers of anticipation along my skin.

His lips soon follow them, tracing my now bare legs up to their junction and capturing my lower lips in a long, sensual kiss. The wet warmth of his mouth contrasts delightfully with the rough stubble of his cheeks that presses into my innermost thighs, and pleasure floods my body like liquid honey, spreading in hypnotic rolling waves. I gasp and moan Gale's name as he breaks each wave with a deft flick of his tongue against my most sensitive spot, letting pure sensation crash through my pliant shell and roar through my veins.

His lavish attention both satisfies and heightens my craving and I possessively tangle my fingers in his hair, pushing him closer and vainly pulling at it as he gives me a last infinitely teasing caress and attempts to resurface.

In answer to my indignant moan of protest he slides two fingers inside me, keeping me on edge with slow circular motion of his thumb right above the point of entrance. Graciously relinquishing my hold, I shift my hips to match his movement, back arching to demand more. Gale grins at my impatience, but his eyes mirror my lust and free hand fumbles as he struggles to get his pants out of the way.

I help him to speed up the process, and lift my legs to lock around his waist and pull him close, as close as humanly possible.

Looking down, I'm still fascinated to see him disappear inside; filling me until our hips touch and heaving chests meet with every breath before pressing together. It feels so right to let him in and become a part of me, to sink into his embrace and become a part of him, to lose myself in _us_ when I choose to do so.

Our bodies always fit and cooperate perfectly, even more so in the breathless throes of love. We pick the pace quickly, both equally frantic and impatient as the friction between our bodies fans our flaming hunger.

Gale soon slides his palms down to cup my ass, all but lifting me up and holding me immobile as he drives into me, so hard I have to press my teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming at every thrust. I make up for my inability to reciprocate by raking my fingers over his back, up and down and down until I slide over my own tightly crossed ankles and dig my nails into the lean, taut muscles of his hips, spurring him on.

And on and on, until I can't even scream, can't even breathe, and just cling to his shuddering body in erratic spasms, overwhelmed, vaporized and distilled into fluid rapture.

The sensory overload ebbs very slowly, and I fight the return of reality as long as I can, keeping my face hidden in the crook of Gale's neck, eyes closed, ear pressed over a strongly pulsing vein, nose and lips buried in his skin, fingers idly tracing the familiar scarscape of his back, now dewy with sweat.

As soon as I sense his attempt to pull away, I clench my slackened arms and legs around him, so tightly my already exhausted muscles ache with the exertion. Our bodies are still glued together in the most intimate way, wild hearts beating as one. I want to abide in this moment as long as possible, cherishing the comforting belief that we are something greater andmore alive than the sum of our spent body-parts and letting Gale's caressing hands dispel the fear of disengagement.

When we do pull apart, it hurts deeper than cramped muscles would warrant, and I find out I've been hugging him so tightly a shallow imprint of the locket I hadn't stripped away remained on both our chests where it's been pressed between our sternums.

I trace the temporary mark on Gale's skin and laugh lightly.

Gale smirks back. "Getting under my skin, huh?"

"Look who's talking," I shoot back.

Still grinning at how much we both like doing exactly that, we stretch and redress, reluctantly but well aware of the necessity.

Yet, I dread opening the door. The dim underground cell suddenly feels safe and welcoming, a place where home is not in ashes but in our hearts, a place where we can do no wrong and no enemy can reach us. Out there, though, only questions with no right answers await us, even more difficult now that we're certain we're fighting an insidious two-front battle.

Before I bring myself to turn the doorknob, Gale turns me towards him with a light touch and presses his lips against my forehead.

"We'll have to be very careful, but we'll make it alright, Catnip," he mutters against my skin. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Or Prim. Not anymore. I have your back. Whatever happens."

"I know. Thank you," I whisper and open the door. We've been hiding for too long already, and I'd told Prim I'll meet her before dinner after all. Even if I were to die, I'll do everything in my power to make things right for _her_ sake.

The promise I'd made by volunteering for her still stands. It's one I _can't_ break, and it's a relief that I'm not alone for the task.

I can only hope Gale and I will be enough.

* * *

><p><strong>AN no 2**:** Thank you very much for reading. Idk if I broke my writer's block, or my writer's block broke me. Please tell me what you think :)  
><strong>


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